


To-morrow and to-morrow

by oneinspats



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Downey and Vetinari are useless, Guild days, M/M, flagrant misuse of Macbeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-01-23 19:29:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21325447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneinspats/pseuds/oneinspats
Summary: The Assassins Guild annual play performed by the year sevens is to be Macbeth. Vetinari believes this is an affront to his decency. Downey would like everyone to know that Dog-botherer has no decency to be affronted about.In the end, all Vetinari wanted was to be a Wyrd Sister.
Relationships: Lord Downey/Havelock Vetinari
Comments: 85
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

Every year at the Assassin’s Guild the seventh form is required to put on a play of their teacher’s choosing. Most often, it’s something with a good deal of blood as Guild teachers know what keeps their students’ attention and it’s generally endemic violence, witty one-liners, brutal executions, rolicking brawls, and vile political machinations. 

One year Romeo and Juliet was attempted. It didn’t go over well. Not in the least because Romeo was _ actually _poisoned on stage. 

Vetinari sits in his literature class and attempts to be invisible. Which is difficult when you’re in the second row and have gained your height before many of your colleagues. 

Something hits his head, a soft snicker follows. Downey, to Vetinari’s great annoyance, has been assigned to the seat diagonally behind him which is prime spit-ball range for the eternally immature. 

Though, Downey no longer looks as childish as he did last year. For Downey has had the misfortune of going away for summer spotty and awkwardly put together, and returning much improved with clear skin, the beginnings of being filled out, and a smooth voice that, as one of Madam’s girls put it, ‘could melt butter-- 

Once he grows up more.’ 

Vetinari flicks a glare over his shoulder. Downey slides down in his seat with a shit-eating grin. 

‘This year, gentlemen,’ Dr. Winstanley casts a disparaging eye over the young men before him. ‘We will be performing the illustrious Bard’s _ Macbeth_. The play that shall not be named, as it is commonly referred to by the superstitious and under-educated lot that are called actors.’ 

Vetinari resists the urge to point out that, technically speaking, they too are actors, if in a transient sense, while they perform this play. What does that make them? 

He can hear Dr. Winstanley’s withering answer: _ I said what I said, Mr Vetinari. _

Dr. Winstanley walks down the rows depositing much-used copies of the play on their desks. The copy that lands before Vetinari is tea-stained and has “this is bollucks” written on the inside cover beside a crude, if anatomically correct, rendering of a large dick. 

He sighs. 

A murmuring of students gathers as they flip through, eyeball potential rolls, snicker at messages left by past guild members. Vetinari skims the cast list and sees a few that would interest him. Something smaller, a manageable role. The witches could be fun, he reasons. They’ve good lines and are mysterious. He can do mysterious and prophetic. 

Attending back he hears that everyone is to write their top three choices down and pass them up for tomorrow they will be assigned their rolls and, no, there will be no switching. Dr. Winstanley’s voice drops to indicate the seriousness of the matter. No debating, no switching, no begging for changes. 

‘You will be content with what is given you,’ he continues. ‘Once casting is assigned you will be expected to learn your lines outside of class. Rehearsals begin end of week. Friday at four.’ 

Loud choruses of complaints. Vetinari is the only one who remains quiet, seeing no point in voicing opposition. Dr. Winstanley is a firm, dictatorial sort. His word is law. Though Vetinari wouldn’t call Winstnaley harsh. It’s merely, he has expectations of his students. 

Vetinari likes the old man prodigiously. 

Downey’s hand shoots up but he speaks before called, ‘What if we have conflicts?’ 

‘What conflict would that be, Mr. Downey?’ 

‘I don’t know, sir. I was just asking, generally, you know.’ 

‘I strongly advise you to be in attendance, Mr. Downey.’ 

Downey huffs, complains loudly to Willis who is three seats over. Willis complains back. Vetinari thinks that together they make more noise than half the class. Surely more could be done to stifle them. Put them at opposite ends of the classroom. Bar them from making eye contact. Prohibit them from speaking in general. Ever. 

The remainder of class is spent reading the first act aloud. Vetinari is pleased when he gets to be a part of the wyrd sisters scene. He thinks he would make a fantastic witch prophesying doom upon Macbeth. He relishes the line, _ When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain? _

It’s a dramatic roll, but in a way that caters to his sense of humour. He writes down for his first choice, ‘any of the Wyrd Sisters’. A pause, he chews his quill top, then writes a few lines explaining how he would be ideal for the roll. Second choice is Banquo for he would find it entertaining to be a ghost for part of the play. Third, Duncan. He adds at the bottom that he would be content with any of the minor rolls as well: Fleance, Ross, Lady Macduff, the various and sundry murderers and so on. 

Handing it in to Dr. Winstanley before he files out he says, ‘I’ve explained my reasoning.’ 

‘I can see, Mr. Vetinari.’ 

‘I would truly like to get my first choice.’ 

‘I assume as much.’ 

Vetinari takes to holding his books against his chest. He continues, ‘I’d be very good at it.’ 

Dr. Winstanley looks over the paper, a twitch of a smile. ‘The Wyrd Sisters? I don’t think I’ve had anyone explicitly ask to be one of them before.’ 

‘They are delightful.’ 

‘Delightful? What an interesting adjective to attach to them. I will take it under advisement but I make no promises. No one is guaranteed their first choice or, indeed, any of their choices.’ 

Vetinari sucks his bottom lip in, tilts back on his heels as he considers how best to secure his role. Dr. Winstantley points to the door, ‘You have somewhere to be, Mr. Vetinari.’ 

‘Yes, sir.’ 

‘Best be there, then. By the way, that is not a gentlemanly expression. Please desist.’ 

Vetinari stops. His neck burns, then cheeks. He ducks his head and hurries from the room. 

What a torturous night. Vetinari attempts to sleep but cannot. He reads all of Macbeth. He reads ahead for his poisons class. He sketches an outline for his end of year essay on the history of assassination in Klatch during the middle kingdom.

Even after all of this he remains awake. Taking out a box from beneath his bed he prepares a cup of tea and goes to the bathroom to run the water as hot as he can manage in a sad attempt at brewing. 

Steam billows up, clouding mirror. A lucky turn. More often than not the hot water is luke warm, the warm water cold and the cold water might as well be glacial run-off. 

He makes his tea, bobbing the ball and watching the water turn a meek brown. Cupping the mug carefully he slowly heads back to his room. The cold of the marble floors cold eats up through feet to calves making them ache. His nightshift is not enough to ward off against the chill of the small hours. 

‘What’s this?’ 

Vetinari closes his eyes. Downey’s voice bounces along the walls. _ Ability to melt butter _ my arse, Vetinari thinks. 

‘What are you doing there, Dog-botherer?’ 

‘Making tea.’ 

‘In the bathroom?’ A disgusted look. ‘I knew you were weird but that’s a bit much.’ 

‘It’s the only hot water available.’ 

‘Disgusting.’ 

‘It’s tap water, Downey. The same water you use to brush your teeth.’ Vetinari stands on the outside of his feet, wishing he had put stockings and a bathrobe on. 

Downey looks him up and down with a raised eyebrow of _ right, sure _ then mutters, ‘You’re such a freak, Dog-botherer’ before disappearing into the bathroom. 

Vetinari stares at the door, shakes his head, and decants back to his room. 

The tea does nothing to help him sleep. He hopes Dr. Winstanley took his argument for why he should be one of witches seriously. Or Banquo. He’d be happy with Banquo. 

He doesn’t count himself a poetic soul, yet the witches had such lines. There is jest beneath their fearsome demeanor. He enjoys hidden humour and sly jokes. The way their words slither off tongue is like mead. A winnowing, snake through sand silent_. _

The wyrd sisters have an essence to them he wishes to relish in. He falls asleep to a line repeating: _Fair is foul, and foul is fair; Hover through fog and filthy air. _

The list of the chosen is pinned to the classroom door before breakfast. When Vetinari arrives his classmates are already crowded around pushing each other and crowing or complaining in turns. 

Vetinari scoots through to the front and skims through names. He finds the Wyrd Sisters and, before he can control his reaction, his face falls. H. Vetinari is not beside any of them. No, they have been gifted to Willis, Creevey, and Theo. Not him. Hecate, goddess of witchcraft, is Seb. He searches out Banquo but that’s gone to Risley. Lady Macduff? Churley. 

Finally, he finds his name. Really, he ought to have seen it immediately. It sits at the top of the page next to Macbeth. Titular role. He is annoyed. He double checks. Perhaps there is another H. Vetinari he is unaware of. His heart is made of rocks nesting in his stomach. Slowly, he backs out from his classmates and begins a sad walk to breakfast. 

Before he enters the Hall a hand grabs his shoulder, spins him about, and he’s faced with Downey. 

‘You’re Macbeth,’ Downey states in a manner that indicated he doesn’t quite believe it. 

‘A role I did not request. Why? Did you want to be him?’ 

‘No. Too much work. I told old Winstanley that I wanted to be one of the murderers.’ 

Vetinari tilts head to the side, he suspects he knows where this is going. Why Downey sought him out and isn’t being an _ absolute _terror, only a minor one. 

Vetinari waits. Downey purses lips, crosses arms, declares haughtily, ‘I’m Lady Macbeth.’ 

Vetinari blinks. Downey stares at him. Vetinari blinks again. 

‘Oh,’ he says. 

‘Yes,’ Downey replies. 

‘Well.’ 

‘Right.’ 

Vetinari coughs. Says, ‘I’m going to go to breakfast now, Downey.’ Then turns on heel and enters into the mayhem of the Hall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: for those who've read anything else I've written regarding Downey and Vetinari - this is a separate trouser leg of time.


	2. Chapter 2

Literature class has them reading Act II and providing feedback and character analysis. There is much discussion about manliness and the Macbeths. Who wears the metaphorical trousers, so to speak. It’s not a conversation Vetinari finds particularly enlightening nor representative of what he has witnessed in terms of coupledom. Nor is it important. It’s not the heart of Macbeth, it’s not a particularly salient read of the play. But he has annoyed Dr. Winstnaley enough this year with his tendency to go: _ Sure, but have you considered _\-- 

Therefore he sits quietly, making notes about how much he wishes to eviscerate certain interpretations for they are _ wrong. _ Manifestly _ wrong_. Throughout class Downey’s eyes bore into the back of his head. Vetinari decides this is worse than spitballs. And the occasional chair kicking. And the time Downey hid Vetinari’s desk in a washroom stall. And the year Downey learned guitar in order to make up rude songs about him so he could follow him around singing them.

Vetinari to Dr. Winstanley, ‘May I ask what, in my reasoning, was faulty?’ 

‘Nothing,’ Dr. Winstanley replies evenly. ‘But this will be a learning experience for you and Mr. Downey.’ 

‘A learning experience?’ Vetinari asks bleakly. 

‘How to get along when tasked with doing something you don’t want to do. It is what they call a _ life lesson_.’ 

Vetinari, mortified that Dr. Winstanley believes him to be in need of _ life lessons_, returns to his seat. It occurs part-way through class that Dr. Winstnaley believes him and Downey to be _ equally _ in need of the same lesson. That he is equated in anyone’s mind to Downey horrifies. He reviews his behaviour in class and believes it to be impeccable. If there are altercations, it is because Downey began them. If they cause disruption, it is because Downey provoked. 

Between classes Vetinari spies Downey ahead of him and begins to deviate his route when Ludo waves, calling out: ‘I hear you got Macbeth. Congratulations.’ 

Vetinari, with reservation, ‘I didn’t want the role.’ 

‘Winstanley has a method to his madness, as I discovered last year. So, you’re playing opposite Will, then.’ A smile of pure glee. Downey grouses that Ludo doesn’t have to be so pleased about the predicament. ‘I think it’ll be good for both of you.’ 

‘I doubt that,’ Downey mutters. Then, he pulls himself up and declares, ‘No matter, I plan to be the best Lady Macbeth the disc has ever seen. So you better not drag the performance down, Dog-botherer.’ 

‘It’s not me you have to worry about, Downey. Considering your inattention to detail, and general lack of self-discipline, I believe it will be you who will be doing the dragging downward.’ 

Downey scowls, an ugly look, and prods Vetinari’s chest, ‘Just because you’re licking Winstanley’s boots doesn’t mean you’re better than the rest of us. Take that stick out of your arse, DB.’

So much for Downey’s being only a minor terror, Vetinari thinks. He is back in top form and being an _ absolute _one. 

Ludo pulls on Downey’s arm, ‘Come on, Will. We have to get to class. Leave him alone.’ 

‘I’m allowed to be offended when he calls me stupid,’ Downey complains. Ludo agrees, _Yes, yes, though technically he was calling you lazy _continuing to pull him down the hall. Vetinari breaths out slowly then follows Downey into poisons, lamenting that Ludo is a year above and so not present to keep Downey under control. 

  
  
  


Vetinari does not know the origin of Downey’s problem with him. And it is entirely one-way. Which makes it all the more perverse. 

If, tomorrow, Downey transformed into a pleasant person Vetinari would have no issue with him. He would be happy to be a friendly acquaintance. If Downey remained how he is but left Vetinari alone, Vetinari would still have no issue. It’s the _ bothering _ part of the set-up that is the issue. 

He suspects there must be something fundamental about him that rubs Downey the wrong way. They have both changed since they started at the guild seven years ago yet Downey continues his antagonism. Vetinari has shifted through friends and acquaintances, as one does. In their cohort allegiances and groups alter over time, barring a few core friendships: the Downey-Ludo-Willis triumvirate; Cooper and Theo (Vetinari isn’t sure if one should call that a friendship or a hostage situation); and Seb and Batler. 

These friendships aside, the amount of change and growth that occurs in the foundational years from ten to seventeen necessarily means that people’s liking and disliking of each other will ebb and flow. 

Yet, the constant: Downey’s antagonism towards him. Ever fixed and unambiguous. 

Vetinari thinks it unfortunate. Not only because it makes his days more of a trial, but because Downey has a few good points and Vetinari would like to make use of them from time to time. 

Exhibit A: Downey’s general size. 

As tall as Vetinari, but broader in shoulders and chest and generally stronger, running into him is akin to running into a brick wall. This would be useful when Cooper decides to be his sociopathic self. Vetinari could tell Downey to go make Cooper behave. He’s seen Ludo and Willis do this and Downey will trundle off and beat Cooper up. Or leave spiders in his bed, mix itching powder into his face lotion, flush his head in the toilet. Whatever it is Downey feels will make the biggest statement. 

Exhibit B: Downey’s inexplicable, encyclopedic knowledge of insects and flowers.

Downey once loudly complained in the common room that he was _ dying by inches _ for he had no one to talk to about insects. Vetinari could have been that person. Not that he has much interest in insects, or plants, beyond their poisoning capabilities, but he is never one to turn down freely given information. It could be useful one day. But, this is not to be because Downey is a disagreeable oaf. If he wasn’t one, Vetinari could have access to a precise, thorough knowledge of the Disc’s flora and fauna and Downey wouldn’t have to feel like he’s being tortured to death for having no one to expound to. 

Alas. 

Indeed, Vetinari can count the ways in which Downey could be useful to him as a general, friendly sort of acquaintance. Easy to manipulate, for aside from his fixation on butterflies, fungi and other biological things, the boy isn’t terribly bright but, he can be deployed when needed. 

He could ask Ludo. Ludo would probably know. Or Willis, but Willis wouldn’t tell him. Ludo most likely would. 

If Vetinari knew the core issue he could, perhaps, alter things to be more to his advantage. 

  
  


It doesn’t take too long to locate Ludo on the second floor of the library, west side, beneath a window with piles of books around him and an abacus that looks as if it has seen better days. 

Vetinari drops into the seat opposite. Ludo looks up with raised eyebrow. Yes? How can he be of service? And before you ask, no Downey isn’t around. 

‘I have a question,’ Vetinari begins. ‘Why doesn’t Downey like me?’ 

Ludo sits back, face open, mouth tugging down to the right in a partial frown. 

‘Did I do something? Or is it a fundamental aspect of my person? Does he just not like my face?’ 

Ludo picks at the edge of the table. He then reaches forward and closes his ink, sets his quill aside from paper to prevent drippage. 

‘I’m not entirely sure,’ Ludo says finally. ‘I’m not sure Will knows why either.’ 

‘You must have some idea, even if he doesn’t.’ 

Ludo flashes a cold smile, ‘Yes, you would assume as much. I think it’s partially a personality clash. I don’t think he understands what makes you tick and that annoys him. It’s his taxonomy thing. Will likes having people organized and you don’t quite fit into whatever mental boxes he has created. He’s keen on structure and order. Being a scientific minded sort, he prefers controlled environments. 

And before you ask, yes. He is aware that he, himself, could never be called _ controlled _ nor _ ordered. _I think that’s part of the appeal. Anyway. The part, I think, is the fact that you rebuffed early friendship overtures.’ 

Vetinari snorts, what early friendship overtures? He doesn’t remember any being made.

‘First year I think,’ Ludo says. ‘He asked you what you were reading and you didn’t answer. He tried again. It devolved from there. He says he shoved you off your trunk which was the only time you responded and it was to tell him he was rude. I’ve attempted to explain to him that ten year olds don’t make great conversationalists and that many lack tact (him included) but he’s held a bit of a grudge since then.’ 

The memory comes back in a fragmented way. How distant ones do. There had been someone on his first day trying to talk to him but he could never remember who it was. He had been very invested in his book and tried to make it clear that he didn’t wish to talk but the boy kept pestering. Then knocked him over. 

Gods, of course it was Downey. 

Really, he should have figured. 

He still can’t recall face or details. Just the brief questions, then being knocked over. He had felt miffed, shocked even. Coming from Madam’s care, and having no siblings, he had been generally doted on by the women in her employ and ignored by the clientele. Being shoved off a seat was not part of a regular life experience. Ludo adds helpfully that Downey is a middle child. There’s much shoving when you’re a middle child. 

‘I see,’ Vetinari says slowly. ‘That was over seven years ago.’ 

‘Indeed.’ 

‘And he’s not over it?’ 

Ludo shrugs, who can say. It’s possibly just habit now. Or it has evolved into a more general dislike due to the aforementioned personality clash. Regardless, nothing Ludo has said or done to soften the one-sided battle has worked. 

‘In all honesty,’ Ludo says as he takes up a book, opening to a saved spot. ‘I wouldn’t read too much into it. Will’s like this. He gets a bee in his bonnet and fixates on it until such time as it bores him or he finds a more interesting item to focus on. In this case, someone else to push into walls.’ 

‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ Vetinari is dry. ‘I do wonder how your friendship works.’ 

‘Oh? I like him,’ Ludo says over the book. ‘He’s a manifestly bizarre person once you get to know him. And we both play lacrosse, like the same books, enjoy the same shows. He’s good fun. Also, he has this trick of getting us into every party in the city. The _ It _ parties. The ones where anyone who is anyone shows up. His skill of saddling up to people going, _ So listen _ is powerful.’ Ludo pauses, turns a page. Just when Vetinari thinks he has finished Ludo adds, ‘And, most importantly, he’s a good friend. Contrary to what many may believe. Granted, his friendship and loyalty is reserved for a precious few. If you’re not on the list he’ll drop you, or take you up, depending on how the wind blows.’ 

Vetinari sighs, shoulders his bag, and thanks Ludo. The older boy waves. His voice drifts over to Vetinari’s shoulder just as he is about to disappear into the stacks, _ This conversation never happened by the by. _Sure, Vetinari agrees. Why? 

‘Will would consider it a betrayal,’ Ludo twists to look at him. ‘But I’m trying to make peace. I think you’re an interesting fellow, Vetinari. One I wouldn’t mind getting to know better. And I believe it’s in all of our interests to get along. In the wild, it is the pack that survives. Alone, a wolf is on borrowed time.’ With a flash of a smile, warmer than the one from the beginning of their conversation, he returns to his work. 

While all of this is very interesting it does nothing to make the future several months of play practice with Downey bearable. 

He had hoped for a key to solve this and merely gained further questions. And the thought that Ludo is a person to watch and learn from. Smooth as a well-oiled machine. Vetinari admires it. He decides to tuck that away, to make it a part of himself as he grows. 

  
  
  


Friday. Four in the afternoon. The cast for Macbeth are gathered in Dr. Winstanley’s classroom with desks pushed to form a circle. Vetinari enters last, sees an open spot next to Theo and scoots in. Downey is three to Vetinari’s left but hard to see through Theo’s curls which are piles of black jutting out at every angle. 

Dr. Winstanley instructs them to open to the first act. We will start from the top. Act I, Scene I, the Wyrd Sisters. 

Vetinari laments his loss. He also laments that none of the boys chosen for the roles are enthusiastic enough. Willis, perhaps, will be. Once he livens up.

Willis is another one whose friendship with Downey Vetinari does not understand. To his knowledge, Willis is one of the few_ genuinely _ good people in the Guild. As in, _ actually _altruistic in his motives. 

Yet, somehow he’s friends with Downey.

Another question: how is Willis still alive? Most people like him meet with accidents early on, or, find it all too distasteful and leave. Yet, here remains Willis. Cheerful, good natured, kind, always willing to lend a hand, seeing the best in everyone (mostly), loyal and so on. Granted, if anyone hurt Willis they’d have to deal with Downey and Ludo. Perhaps that’s why he’s still alive and friends with Downey. It provides a protective shield of dickishness between Willis and the rest of the Guild. 

But no, that’s too cold for Willis. He doesn’t use people in that manner. Vetinari reluctantly settles on the simplest answer: they get along and have things in common. Somehow, Willis finds Downey, in all his terrible glory, likable. 

Theo nudges him, ‘You’re up.’ 

Vetinari turns over to Scene III, ‘Uh, right, _ So foul and fair a day I have no’ seen_.’ He leans forward to glimpse Downey who gives him an unimpressed look. 

Risley, pock-marked and small, is Banquo, ‘_How far is't call'd to Forres? What are these; so wither'd and so wild in their attire that look not like the inhabitants o' the earth _ \--’ Risley pauses, frowns at the next line. ‘Why’s it written _ are on’t _ instead of _ are not _?’ 

‘Poetic language of the day,’ Winstanley replies. He peers over glasses at the young man. ‘Continue, Mr. Wriostheley.’ 

‘It’s pronounced Ris-e-ley, sir.’ 

Dr. Winstanley, ‘My apologies. Mr. Ris-e-ley.’ 

Downey sneers, ‘Call-me-Risley, when are you going to accept that no one is ever going to pronounce your last name in that manner?’

Risley makes a rude gesture. 

Dr. Winstanley clears his throat and gives both a stern look. He taps his book and indicates Risley who continues with his lines. 

Acts III and IV progress slowly. There are diversions over pronunciation, arguments over where to place the emphasis on Thane of Cawdor (Willis: _ Thane _ of Cawdor; Theo: Thane of Caw _ dor _ etc.), snickers anytime a character says _ Ho, there _ and many cheers anytime someone says Hail which is explained to Winstanley as _ We’re doing as the text tells us, sir. Hailing. And most cheerfully. _

Finally, Act V and Lady Macbeth enters. Downey feigns reading the letter delivered to Lady Macbeth with great flourish. It’s the most upright Vetinari has seen him sit in an academic setting. 

‘--_ These weird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of time, with 'Hail, _ (cheers from the other actors) _ king that shalt be!' This have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness _ (sneered. Winstanley: You’re going to have to be affectionate. They do love each other. Downey: Yes, sir.), _ that thou mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell _ (said with confectionary sweetness. Vetinari stares at his book).’ 

The monologue goes on. Downey snorts at the line,_ I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness. _ ‘DB isn’t filled with the milk of human kindness.’ 

‘It isn’t Mr. Vetinari you’re speaking of. It’s your husband, whom you love but think in need of a stronger spine,’ Winstanley interjects. 

‘I know, sir. I’m editorializing.’ 

‘Please resist that temptation, Mr. Downey. It’s unnecessary.’ 

Vetinari continues to stare at his book. Downey returns to the speech. When he is trying, Vetinari must admit, Downey does have a voice that could melt butter. Or could be butter itself. Butter that is plotting the murder of a king. 

  
  
  


‘We have to practice our lines together,’ Downey greets at breakfast. Vetinari is shocked to see him up so early on a Saturday. Usually, he doesn’t roll down to Hall until the lunch hour tired and hungover. 

‘Yes,’ Vetinari agrees. He presses lips together, trying to find something further to say. Downey stares at him with a half-cocked eyebrow. ‘Shall we meet in the courtyard after breakfast?’ 

‘Sure. Or we can start now,’ Downey says, circling around the table to sit opposite Vetinari. Weekend breakfasts are served in the Quirmian fashion with food in serving dishes laid out on the table. Downey procures several croissants and some cheese. He eyes the eggs with distrust. 

‘It’s not as bad as last week,’ Vetinari says. ‘The eggs, that is.’ 

‘I ate them once and threw up. Never again.’ 

Vetinari looks at the scramble on his plate then back at Downey who, slowly chewing, watches him. 

‘I’m sure they’re fine,’ Downey offers. His tone is not convincing. ‘It was probably my hangover.’

‘I’ve never had a problem with them.’ Vetinari prods them. Decides he is in the mood for toast. 

Downey rummages around in his bag, pulling out various books, an empty ink bottle, protractor and compass, the abacus Ludo was using the other day, then at length, the play. 

‘I think we can learn our solo parts on our own, but we should practice the parts where our characters interact.’ 

Tell me, Downey. Why are you so invested in this? It doesn’t seem like you. You’re not a join-er when it comes to academic requirements.’ Unless you can make your group-mates do the work, Vetinari doesn’t add. 

‘I like theatre,’ Downey shrugs. ‘It’s entertaining. And Lady Macbeth gets all the good lines and murder scenes. It’s terribly dramatic and I’m sure her costume is fantastic. Being that she’s a queen.’ 

Vetinari mutely eats his toast. What wonders are being laid out before him as Downey natters on about the delights of acting. Well, gentlemanly performance. They aren’t so tawdry and of ill repute as to be _ actors_. 

The longer Vetinari is quiet, the more Downey talks. Vetinari thinks, Huh, that’s interesting. Silence breeds for chattering. There’s a lot of things said between the lines of the chattering. 

From what he gathers at some point in his youth Downey had theatrical dreams quashed by his father who didn’t feel they were appropriate and this is an opportunity to act on them, if in a small way. 

Wonders upon wonders. 

Vetinari butters another slice and eats it, also in silence. 

After a while Downey slowly peters out and stops talking. Then his face flushes and he glares. Vetinari blinks. The mood change is sudden and now Downey is saying that Vetinari can shove it. Yes, he’ll still meet him in the courtyard for the play takes priority. 

_ But still, Dog-botherer, you’re a scag. _

Vetinari watches Downey go in absolute confusion. Ten minutes later he gathers up his books and heads out to Guild courtyard. 

  
  


The courtyard has a well in the centre that is more for show now, than use. There is also a fountain beneath the main staircase that leads up into the guild. Running along the ground floor is a cloister with windows framed in delicately decorated arches. Towards the wall that backs onto the alley dividing the Assassins Guild from the Teachers Guild is a curated garden. On a bench under low-hanging devil’s ivy sits Downey, feet on the bench, lips moving as he reads. 

Vetinari approaches, wondering what happened at breakfast that caused the sudden vacating of Downey but not sure how to ask. So he sits at the far end of the bench and takes out his book. 

‘I think our first shared scene is in Act I Scene V,’ Vetinari says when Downey remains quiet. 

‘Sure.’ 

‘Shall we start from the top?’ 

‘If you like.’ 

Vetinari, ‘All right. I suppose you should do your speech ahead of my line.’ 

Downey adjusts himself so he no longer slouches with legs up and now sits straight with legs crossed. He begins, with a great deal less enthusiasm than exhibited before, eventually winding down with a sigh of, ‘_Thy letters have transported me beyond this ignorant present, and I feel now the future in the instant. _’ 

Vetinari, _ ‘My dearest love, Duncan comes here to-night.’ _

‘_And when goes hence? _’ 

‘_Tomorrow, as he purposes._’ 

‘_O, never shall sun that morrow see-- _’ 

‘Downey,’ Vetinari stops him. ‘If we’re going to do this we should actually try and be the part.’ 

Downey nods. Vetinari licks lips then suggests perhaps from the top but this time with feeling? Downey shrugs. 

Vetinari scowls, turns back the page in his book with purpose. Downey is staring at him with moody eyes. Which are very dark, the sort of brown that might as well be black, making for a mildly disconcerting visage when Downey is in a foul mood. Like a murderer, Vetinari thinks. He looks like a murderer. But the thuggish kind in back alleyways. 

‘What?’ Vetinari asks when Downey doesn’t begin with his speech. 

‘You’re far weirder than I am so I’m not sure you can judge,’ Downey snaps. 

‘Judge what?’ 

‘You were clearly judging me at breakfast. What’s wrong with wanting to be in a theatre production from time to time? It’s not like I’m advocating becoming an actor and a part-time seamstress.’ 

Vetinari lifts eyebrows, opens his mouth to respond then closes it. He fidgets with the corner of the book, making pages flutter. He retraces the conversation at breakfast and cannot see what caused Downey to leap to this rather outlandish conclusion. 

Vetinari dislikes mimes and clowns and many street-side performers, but actors, as a whole, he’s neutral on. If Downey wishes to flounce around on stage he is more than welcome to do so. 

Downey now mimics his fidgeting book pages. 

‘I was certainly doing no such thing,’ Vetinari finally says. ‘I was listening,’ he adds, helpfully. 

‘You sat there and stared. Of course you were judging.’ 

‘I was not. That’s how you listen.’ 

Downey laughs, a short angry one, ‘That is not at all how one listens. Sitting silently and staring? Not saying anything? No reactions? That’s silent judgement.’ 

‘Downey, you’re being ridiculous.’ 

‘I am not.’ 

‘You’re misrepresenting everything, which is not gentlemanly of you, as our teachers would say.’ 

‘How is it a misrepresentation?’ 

‘I wasn’t judging you. I was listening. Indeed, I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular, other than the fact that your father overreacted because that was _ quite _a thing to tell a six year old.’ 

‘Leave my father out of this--’

‘You’re the one who mentioned him.’ Vetinari does not know how their conversation got to this point. He is flustered, Downey is in turns affronted and murderous. Clearing his throat with purpose Vetinari holds up the play, ‘We should continue.’ 

Downey clearly considers ploughing on in their argument but in the end relents, turns his attention to the material. A moment of silence. Temple bells can be heard in the distance chiming the hour. Clattering from the Guild kitchen leaks out from an open window and drifts through the courtyard. The hum of city life rises up over walls and settles around them. The air is beginning to adopt the coolness of autumn. 

With grudging expression Downey asks, ‘Truly? You were just listening?’ 

‘Truly.’ 

‘Gods, you’re a real freak sometimes, Dog-botherer.’ 

Vetinari ignores this. He says, ‘We shall commence again. This time as if we are actually performing.’ 

Downey does not disappoint. 


	3. Chapter 3

It is Vetinari’s luck that Cooper is playing Macduff. Which means every time they practice the final death scene he gets to watch the relish on Cooper’s face as he pretends to run Vetinari through with his sword. The beheading is taken care of off stage so, at the very least, he doesn’t have to witness Cooper’s glee at that. 

‘Your enthusiasm is noted, Mr. Hawkner, but MacDuff is somber in this scene,’ Dr. Winstanley interrupts. ‘Please try again. On your feet Mr. Vetinari.’ 

Vetinari sighs, hauls himself back up, ‘_Before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff, and damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!_'’ 

Cooper runs him through. Vetinari pretends to die. Dr. Winstanley shakes his head, ‘too realistic. Yes, that is how a man would die if run through with a longsword at that position but this is theatre. It needs to be more performative. Make it bigger, Mr. Vetinari.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Cooper says, swinging the prop sword around. ‘Put some real effort into it, DB. Even Downey’s managing to act.’ 

‘Shove off, Coops,’ Downey calls from where he is running lines with classmates. 

Cooper gives Downey a rude gesture before attending back to the scene. Winstanley, with the grace and dignity of a man who has taught teenagers for well over twenty years, sighs. 

‘I will not have such behaviour in my classroom. Mr. Hawkner, eyes on your own paper, so to speak. That applies to you as well, Mr. Downey.’ 

Downey loudly complains that Cooper started in. Winstanley tells him to be quiet and run his lines or he may leave. 

When Winstanley is content with the death scene he recalls the students to their circle and tells them that costume measurements will be taken tomorrow and so they had best be here on time. Vetinari believes he can, quite literally, feel the excitement emanating from Downey whose hand shoots up immediately. 

‘Yes, Mr. Downey?’ 

‘Will we get to see them tomorrow?’ 

‘No, you’re just having your measurements taken.’ 

‘Do you know what I get to wear?’ 

‘It may be shocking to you, Mr. Downey, but I have better things to do with my time than memorize what costumes are available for someone so tall playing Lady Macbeth.’ 

‘It’s going to be very fancy,’ Downey declares. ‘I’m sure of it.’ 

Cooper flicks Downey’s ear, hisses that he’s very excited to be playing a woman. Downey bats his hand away, reiterating how much murder she either initiates or partakes in. She is the best character and it should really be named after her. 

‘And she has the most impressive lines,’ Downey adds. 

‘You never struck me as being an invert,’ Cooper says. 

Downey whacks him upside the head. Winstanely snaps at them to behave. 

  
  
  


After rehearsal Vetinari finds himself exiting the room at the same time as Downey who asks if Vetinari is free to run lines. He explains that he had plans to study chemistry with Ludo but Ludo mysteriously bailed at the last minute and so now there’s free time. 

Vetinari squints. Ludo cancelling study plans seems out of character. There is a not uncomfortable feeling that he and Downey are being manipulated. Ludo hasn’t said anything more to him about his interest in Vetinari and Downey being friendly with each other for vaguely ominous wolf-alone-in-the-woods-dies reasons. But still, Vetinari is suspicious. 

Halfway to Downey’s room Vetinari asks, ‘Is Ludo a manipulative sort?’ 

Downey snorts, ‘Ludo? Manipulative? No. Cunning like a fox, but not mean. Unless he has to be. Then he’s very mean indeed. But he’s not, you know, lurking in corners, rubbing his hands together plotting and scheming.’ 

‘That’s not what I meant.’ 

‘Oh.’ Downey frowns. ‘What did you mean?’ 

‘Is he good at maneuvering people to do what he wants them to do?’ 

‘Oh, that’s what you meant. Yes. Willis calls him a puppet master.’ 

Vetinari presses lips into a line, hums a non committal response to Downey’s inevitable, _ why are you asking? _

Downey opens his door and motions Vetinari to enter. As Vetinari passes through Downey puts a hand on his chest, ‘Do you think he’s trying to pull something with you?’ 

‘Hardly.’ 

Downey half-smiles. It’s a look Vetinari has seen on the other boy’s face when he’s with his friends. It’s something Willis and Ludo can manifest but few others. Most of Downey’s smiles are mocking things. This one is almost affectionate. 

‘Good luck,’ is all Downey says. He pushes clothes off his bed and desk chair, shoving them into a corner. ‘You have to wake up early to get ahead of Ludo. Best not to go to sleep, really.’ A pause, Downey’s face goes still, contemplative. Then he looks at Vetinari with a peering expression. Like he’s searching for something. ‘Not unlike you, I suspect.’ 

‘I wouldn’t know what you mean.’ 

‘You know. It ought to be you who is Lady Macbeth. Between the two of us. You’d be the one to come up with the plan to take the throne. I’d just stab things.’ This realization appears to give Downey some cheer. Which Vetinari decides to interpret as Downey finding some form of box to put him in for his internal taxonomy. But truly, who knows. Downey’s mind leaps from one thing to another with much speed and little logic. 

‘I don’t think so,’ Vetinari replies primly. ‘I should be one of the wyrd sisters. That is how it ought to have gone.’ 

  
  
  


Vetinari finds the tentative truce that has apparently been reached between him and Downey a relief. The pestering remains, for he is still called Dog-botherer and Downey still hollers bad jokes at him from down the hall, but the projectiles have stopped and the regularity of these vocal intrusions has decreased. 

It is two months into rehearsals when Vetinari is invited to sit with them at dinner. By Ludo, of course, but it’s an encouraging sign. 

Downey doesn’t talk to him, only flicks small pieces of bread in his direction. Truly, an overall improvement. 

  
  


Vetinari begins to take note of the occasions when Downey is more pleasant (never entirely pleasant, but tolerable) and when he is not. It seems that in private Downey softens. He is less boisterous and grandiose. Less mean, too. Vetinari ponders that perhaps Ludo is missing a piece to Downey’s interactions with him, perhaps a good portion of it is performativity. 

He takes it to Madam. 

Takes the entirety of the last three months to Madam. 

It’s an avalanche. Madam serves him tea through it all. 

First: ‘It’s really quite a ridiculous thing that I should be Macbeth and not a Wyrd Sister. I made my reasoning clear to Dr. Winstanley and he said he would take it under advisement but he didn’t follow through on the most logical course of action. I would be a superior Wyrd Sister to Theo, who is one. I suppose Willis will be alright, when he pays attention. He’s in love with someone I think. He keeps writing Katrina all over his book. Anyway, I just wanted to be a witch.’ 

Second: ‘I’m fairly certain Cooper isn’t all there. Downey said he once caught him flushing a first year’s head in the toilet. Even Downey was appalled, and his standards are very low. He has been assigned the role of MacDuff, Cooper not Downey, and I dislike seeing the immense pleasure on his face every time he fake-stabs me. It’s unnecessary. I am aware he doesn’t like me, he doesn’t need to make a parade of it. And it is different to Downey who is merely annoying. Occasionally destructive to my property but doesn’t actually do anything long lasting in terms of harm to my person. Also, he’s not bright enough to be an effective bully. Cooper, though -- I believe Assassins require a term for when we lose the plot and need taking care of. Cooper lost it years ago.’ 

Third: ‘It’s shocking that Dr. Winstanley won’t listen. He’s a teacher, they should be flexible to change. It’s not too late for Theo to be Macbeth and for me to be a Wyrd Sister. I had an idea for a costume and everything. I know we have them prepared for us, but I was going to borrow one of your old dresses that you never wear anymore and make alterations. It was going to very spooky and witch-like. Very appropriate. Now I’m Macbeth. What am I doing as a usurper?’ 

Fourth: ‘Downey’s Lady Macbeth which means we’ve been sort of getting along for the last while. A shock, I know. He’s not stolen any of my books, let alone burnt them, in almost six months. The last time was back in May. You remember. Anyway, he’s improved marginally. A very small amount. But I was wondering - is there a word for when someone is very demonstrative of their ire and dislike of you in public but is somewhat tolerable in private? No, Madam, it’s not peacocking. He’s not Willis who would enter a steeplechase in a second if someone told him it would make Katrina love him. No, there is another term. I am certain of it. I’ve seen men peacock. That’s what they do when they strut around doing all manner of embarrassing thing in an attempt to impress women. Downey isn’t trying to impress anyone. There’s no woman I’m aware of who has told him “Harass Havelock Vetinari or I Won’t Love You.” He’s just being a prat.’ 

Fifth: ‘Anyway, I really wanted to be a Wyrd Sister.’

Sixth: ‘Downey wanted to be a murderer. But he likes being Lady Macbeth. Yes, it’s because of how much murder she incites or commits herself. I think he saw Macbeth as a child and wanted to be in it but his father told him that men from their family don’t do that sort of thing. Whatever that means.’ 

Seventh: ‘I don’t know why you think this is all very amusing, Madam. I am deadly serious. Yes, I’m eating well. I got the socks you sent me. And the small clothes. And the scarves the girls knitted. Yes, all ten of them. They’re in my closet. I will wear them when it gets cold out, I promise. No, I don’t need a new hat. I have one, it’s more than sufficient. Do you know how many hats Downey owns? It’s bordering on an addiction, I’m half-certain. They all have feathers, too. No, I don’t want a hat with a feather. I’m just saying he has many hats with feathers. It’s a bit much.’ 

Vetinari stops. Drinks the hundreth cup of tea. Finally relaxes into the couch. 

Madam looks at him with bemused affection, ‘It sounds like you have a lot going on in your life right now, Havelock.’ 

‘It’s fine.’ 

‘For someone who spent the last half-hour unloading, I think _ fine _ isn’t the word you’re looking for.’ 

Vetinari shuffles his feet. He explains what Ludo said about Downey and then reiterated his own addition about the performativity for some, unknown reason. He wants to know what it all means. Why is Downey behaving like this? Why doesn’t he make sense? 

Madam tilts her head and spends time in thought. She then rings for a girl and tells her that food would not be amiss - perhaps the fruit comfits brought in this morning and some light sandwiches. 

‘Sometimes,’ she begins slowly, once they’re alone. ‘People want to be friends with someone but don’t know how to go about it. Other times, people act out in response to something unrelated to you. They project what they’re feeling onto you because it’s safer than responding to the actual cause. It could also be boundary testing, seeing how far certain actions can be taken before there are consequences. Others have been taught to behave in this sort of manner. That swagger, arrogance and cruelty are what make a man. They are attempting to act in such a way that would garner approval from parents or other guardians. And some people, at the end of the day, are simply cruel and there is nothing deeper to it.’

Vetinari isn’t sure which applies here. He doubts Downey wishes to be friends, so that is set aside. He doesn’t think it’s a mere cruelty, that’s more Cooper’s MO than Downey. 

‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘I don’t know which it is.’ 

‘And you might never know.’ 

Vetinari purses lips, that hadn’t occurred. That he might not find the answer. There’s always a lever, he says. There’s always something that makes people tick. 

‘Sure,’ Madam agress. She pauses as plates are brought in and set on the low table before them. 

Vetinari, in stocking-ed feet, pulls them up and crosses his legs on the shared settee. He delicately takes a plate and picks at the sandwich. Cucumber. He eats it in a circle.

‘For most of us there are readily apparent levers,’ Madam continues. ‘We are motivated by money, power, self-righteousness, obligation, duty and so on. But there are some whose levers aren’t as easy to find. They are empty, shape-shifting voids who will turn themselves into whatever you want them to be in order to control you, or entice you, or manipulate you. But beneath that veneer? There’s nothing. Only absence.’ 

She eats half a sandwich before continuing, ‘The lever for these people is often a desire for control, power and self-gratification. And they will do whatever required to satisfy those needs; often disregarding social norms, boundaries, the feelings of others and so on whilst feeling no remorse. But they’re rare.’ 

Vetinari takes up another sandwich. ‘Are their levers really that difficult to find? Surely they’d be quite obvious.’ 

Madam smiles, ‘You’ve never met one. You will at some point, I’m sure. Or maybe you have already and aren’t aware of it. Those sorts of people, they’re very good at hiding. Until they aren’t anymore.’ She shrugs. ‘But yes, once you realize how they operate, they are the same as anyone else.’

‘I don’t think Downey’s clever enough for that.’ 

‘Manipulation, chronic deceitfulness, general disregard for the feelings of others - none of that requires particular intelligence. It’s all terribly base.’

Vetinari eats his sandwich, once again in a circle. He ponders Cooper and Downey. This all sounds much more like the former than the latter. Downey is capable of caring for others. A very limited few. But he has that ability. He is also deeply obsessed with social norms. To a possibly unhealthy degree. 

Cooper, on the other hand — well he wouldn’t know human kindness or empathy if it hit him upside the head. He's the sort of man who would break something just to see it shatter. 

‘Now,’ Madam refreshes her tea and adds a dram of bourbon. ‘I think this is all very off the mark with your predicament. Alas, my dear, _ that _is a situation no one but the two of you can resolve. Or not resolve, as the case may be. Now, tell me about the play. How is coming along? When is it? Will parents be invited?’ 

‘It’s to be performed at the end of term, before we break for Hogswatch. I think there are tickets. I shall get you one.’ 

‘Two, please. Three, if at all possible. I know Missy and Lilian will want to come.’ 

Vetinari shuffles about. Madam raises an eyebrow that brooks no opposition to the presence of his de-facto aunts. 

This is the problem with growing up in a House of Negotiable-Priced Love. You get a mother and fifteen or more aunts. 

‘We get to see our costumes next week,’ Vetinari says. He is excited to see his. He has heard that Macbeth comes with an impressive cape and much velvet. ‘For the kingly scenes. In the first scene, of course, I’m in full battle array. Or a representation of it. We have seen the armour, it’s a bit theatrical. Not at all practical.’ 

‘I should hope not. This is the theatre, my dear boy, not real life. It’s all about showing people what they expect to see, not the actual thing itself. Not unlike politics. It’s all smoke, mirrors and timing. I was given to understand that you would learn much about that at the Guild.’ 

‘Oh, we do.’ 

‘Good. I’m pleased to hear it. How are your lines progressing?’ 

Vetinari puts pear confit on his plate alongside a selection of pastries. Fingers sticky he delicately licks them. 

Vetinari: ‘They’re coming along. I promised Downey I would do another run through with him tonight. I trust we will all be well memorized by the time of the performance.’ 

Madam pats his knee and tells him to have another helping. He clearly isn’t being fed enough and he’s grown another half-inch since she last saw him, she is fairly certain. Vetinari does as requested and even accepts a bag of food for later. 

At the back door Madam says, ‘Remember, three tickets if you can manage them.’ 

‘I’ll do my best.’ 

‘You always do, my dear.’ She does not close the door. Vetinari stands in the light drizzle that began during the tea with his mother. Madam motions him closer. He approaches. Can smell her perfume. Can hear the music from within. Someone is playing a minuet. ‘It’s been but five months since May.’ 

‘Yes. It has,’ Vetinari agrees.

‘The gentleman in question has gone away from himself faster than anticipated. I worry things are going to become difficult and may remain so for a good while yet.’ 

‘In only five months?’ 

‘Some men appear stronger and more capable than they actually are. He is one of them, sadly. For us and for him. Keep friends close, Havelock. Make few enemies. You never know when someone might be useful in the future.’ 

  
  
  


‘Do you have tickets for your parents yet?’ Vetinari asks as Downey moves him to where Winstanley has blocked them. They are in the empty common room and a clock in a Guild hallway strikes midnight. The wood and brass and leather of the room is illuminated by the fire in the grate and the half-dozen candles still lit. They make half a circle around them. Shadows dance. 

‘No,’ Downey nods. That’s where Macbeth is. ‘And as Lady Macbeth, I enter as you’re having second thoughts about murder.’ 

‘When are you getting yours?’ 

‘That’s not your line. You start with _If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well_ _it were done quickly _etc.’ 

‘No, when are you getting your tickets? My aunt wishes to secure two more for some of her friends. I assume seating is limited.’ 

‘Oh,’ Downey shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Probably. Ask old Winstanley. Now, go on, _ if the assassination could trammel up the consequence _ \--’ 

‘_And catch with his surcease success; that but this blow might be the be-all and the end-all here- _-’ 

They continue.

Vetinari attempts to convey Macbeth’s misgivings over the assassination of Duncan. That Duncan is a kinsman to Macbeth, his guest, his king, and the one who so justly rewarded him, making him Thane of Cawdor.

  
  


Winder died of a heart attack. Vetinari did not spill blood on his first inhumation. Later that night, of course, is a different story. But he regrets none of these actions. He has no misgivings about what he did, what he intended to do, nor what he will do in the future. Regret, remorse, and doubt have no place in the heart and mind of an assassin. 

How can he then act a remorseful killer? It’s a struggle. He feels he is wooden. There’s no fluidity to his lines. 

Downey comes forward as Lady Macbeth. He pauses before Vetinari, regards him with that searching look while speaking his lines, _ Was the hope drunk wherein you dressed yourself? _

Downey’s black eyes make everything fierce. They reflect candle-light. Downey reaches up with both hands to cup Vetinari’s face. Vetinari cannot breath. His heart beats very loudly in his chest, his ears, his stomach.

Downey asks Lady Macbeth’s question, ‘_Art thou afeard to be the same in thine own act and valour as thou art in desire? _’

  
  


Hands that cupped face remain. The ghost of them, like Banquo at the feast. Then, as Vetinari fiercely rubs cheeks, they vanish. Like the witches into highland heather. 

He rolls around in bed. He pulls his sheets up, kicks them off. He makes bathroom-faucet tea. It doesn’t do its office of soothing him. He tries reading his maths textbook. But still he cannot sleep. He thinks that it will be a good day when the play is over and he will no longer be required to spend time with Downey’s palms against his skin. 

What was that line? _ Palm to palm, a holy palmer’s kiss_. Vetinari scoffs. Downey is a lout, a laddish oaf, a stroppy fool. Vetinari has no time for boys like Downey. He has no intentions to have time or inclination for boys like Downey. 

Anyway, even if he had hypothetical time and inclination for boys like Downey, it’s as Cooper said: Downey isn’t an invert. Downey isn’t the green-carnation wearing type. There are no indications he even knows what that would mean. 

Indeed, Vetinari doubts Downey is of that sort of inclination at all. Downey plays rugby and lacrosse. He laments with Willis about girls who aren’t in love with them. Or, at the very least, listens to Willis lament. He is big and boyish and wholly uncomplicated. And wholly uninterested in one H. Vetinari. 

Vetinari adds, And all of this is of course is contingent on a hypothetical situation in which I would have time and interest in Downey. Which I don’t. 

Taking out the play he reads over the murder of Duncan. He does not think of how close he will have to stand to Downey. 


	4. Chapter 4

The great day of costume fitting is upon them. Everyone arrives early and with great excitement. Every time someone enters the room there are cheers then boos when it’s revealed to be another classmate and not the arrival of the costumes. 

Vetinari opens the door. 

Everyone: Hurrah! 

Vetinari enters. 

Everyone: Oh, booo. 

Downey sticks his tongue out, ‘It’s just Dog-botherer.’ General jeers ensue. 

Vetinari doesn’t look at Downey. He quietly slides into his seat and takes out his Klatchian homework. The conditional tense is attempting to defeat him. He will not allow it. After several minutes of relative peace, barring the occasional interruption of the entire room reacting to someone entering, Vetinari notices someone standing in front of him. 

He looks up. Downey looks down. 

‘What have you there, DB?’ 

‘Klatchian homework. It’s due tomorrow.’ 

‘We have homework?’ 

‘In my class we do. But you’re not in advanced, so I can’t speak for you.’ 

Downey frowns. He squints at Vetinari, a look Vetinari has come to know as _ I’m trying to figure out if you’re insulting me or not _. Evidently deciding that Vetinari was not insulting him Downey shouts across the room, ‘Willis do we have Klatchian homework?’ 

Willis, ‘I don’t think so. I hope not. If so, I haven’t done it. Why?’ 

‘No reason.’ 

Downey returns his attentions to Vetinari and watches him write out the practice sentences. Vetinari ignores him for a minute then, when he doesn’t appear to be leaving, asks, ‘Can I do something for you, Downey?’ 

‘No.’ 

‘Is there something you wanted to tell me?’ 

Downey drapes himself into the seat next to Vetinari, ‘No. Nothing, DB.’ 

Vetinari stares at him. He churns through possible motivations for Downey’s presence and cannot find one. 

This continuation of not being able to accurately discern Downey’s motives is not fantastic. Generally, they’re quite base. Usually Downey is motivated by boredom, constant need for attention and entertainment and a desire to be seen as in charge. But all of that has been turned on its head. Downey staring is not acting on his usual impulses. (Or, more accurately, acting on his poor impulse control.) It's a mystery. 

Vetinari does not like it. 

Downey continues to watch him. 

Vetinari feels that the situation must come to a head and is about to make a comment that Downey should leave or say whatever it is he is here to say when the door opens and finally, to great fanfare, the costumes arrive. 

Downey is the definition of enthusiasm. ‘The crown is fantastic,’ he crows. ‘I can’t wait to put it on my head.’ 

Winstanley, ‘Actually, Mr. Vetinari will be crowning you as he is the king.’ 

Downey makes a face. Then, as quickly as he was annoyed, he is cheerful again. Whatever, he declares, it’s still a crown and he still gets to wear it. 

‘The power behind the throne,’ he says with pleasure. ‘Because Macbeth can’t get anything done without Lady Macbeth.’ 

Vetinari turns his crown over. Paper mache and costume jewelry it’s gaudy and ornate. He tries it on for size and finds that it’s a perfect fit. Glancing over, he catches Downey watching with an expression he has never seen before. It is almost bleak. It is certainly something lonesome. But in a flash it’s replaced with the usual self-confident sneer. 

Macbeth has two costumes, one is tunic, armour and weapons for the first act. It’s dark, old and smells of mothballs The second, kingly robes of red, gold and white with scepter to match the crown. The barren scepter, as Macbeth puts it to his lady wife. Barren crown and barren scepter. 

Lady Macbeth has one dress, a light, silver-blue, then a red and gold mantel to be added once made queen. Downey prods the material. ‘Cheap,’ he says in disappointment. ‘Not even attempting to look like finery. But I suppose from a distance, on stage…’ But he doesn’t sound convinced. 

‘These are student costumes,’ Dr. Winstanley intones as he walks by. ‘We aren’t spending a fortune on them for you all to ruin them in a single night.’ 

Everyone changes in order to allow for additional adjustments to be made and Vetinari returns to his seat to find Downey lounging, feet on his chair, in Lady Macbeth’s dress with queenly cloak hung loose across his shoulders. The crown is on at an angle. 

The dress is old fashioned, with surcoat and long, wide skirts made of much material that hide the remainder of the figure from the waist down. Gold girdle with prayer book attached. The cloak is edged in ermine. Or animal fur that has been dyed to look like ermine. Vetinari assumes it’s cat. 

‘Dress is too short,’ Downey says. ‘They’ll have to let it down. I also get a veil to cover my hair for modesty’s sake. It’s black with gold stars pricked out on it. I feel terribly conniving in it.’ 

Vetinari stands in his armour and cloak. He shifts awkwardly. Downey grins, snaps fingers and points, and bolts up from the desk. 

‘We look like quite the pair,’ he takes to lounging on Vetinari, an arm draped along his shoulder and resting much of his weight on the other young man. It causes Vetinari’s stomach to feel odd. ‘You in oversized armour and me in a dress that is six inches too short. All hail Macbeth, Thane of Cawdor. All hail Lady Macbeth, queen and the reason for Macbeth’s ability to ascend to power.’ 

Required cheers at _ All Hail. _

‘You’re being ridiculous,’ Vetinari mutters, ducking out from beneath Downey’s arm and returning to his seat again. ‘If you will excuse me, I have work I need to do. If you must _ flounce _ do so elsewhere.’ 

Downey tugs at the sleeves, which are also too short, then smirks. He says that once his costume is fitting he is going to win all the hearts of all the lads. Everyone better watch out. Then, with a cheeky grin, he saunters off to join Willis and the other Wyrd Sisters. 

One of whom, Vetinari still feels he ought to have been. 

  
  
  


Vetinari takes to reading and rereading the scenes between Macbeth and his lady wife. He decides that Lady Macbeth’s motives are pure ambition. What love has she for Macbeth save his title? His potential for kingship? 

He takes this to Winstanley, ‘We’re playing them too affectionately. Lady Macbeth is only after the crown.’ 

Winstanley lifts his brows, ‘That is one interpretation, certainly.’

‘She’s relentless, ambitious, capable of great cruelty and she’s pushing Macbeth forward, despite his misgivings, his honour, his pride in kinship and being a host, because she wants what the witches promised.’ 

‘Can a person not be capable of all that and still love? She wants the crown as much for Macbeth as for herself. This is as much about his claiming what she believes to be rightfully his as it is her own advancement. She is acting out of a form of love. Perhaps there’s some perversity to it, but it is still love.’ 

Vetinari cannot agree. They should have more coolness between the two characters. She insults Macbeth! She needles him. She calls him all manner of things - then, what, she loves him? She loves him even in her ambition? She loves him even as she calls him cowardly and unmanly?

‘Absolutely,’ Winstanley says amiably. ‘She loves him and he her. They are deeply flawed individuals, as we all are, but they love each other. I think their tragedy is that they make many of their choices out of a desire to improve their position because they believe the other is deserving of it, and these choices end up making them small. And in their smallness they lose their sense of self eventually driving them to their deaths. 

‘But love and ambition, twined, is the cause of it all. 

‘You know your lines. I would wager you have everyone’s parts memorized. Therefore you know that from the beginning, Macbeth thinks of his wife first in all things: _ I'll be myself the harbinger and make joyful the hearing of my wife with your approach _ . And Lady Macbeth? She certainly believes her husband can and should be king. Indeed, one could read her as being more concerned with her husband’s rewards and positions, which she thinks are well deserved, than her own. She says it herself, her wish is to be his _ dearest partner of greatness _.

‘Their growing distance, as the play progresses, is also part of the tragedy. A direct response to that smallness that they have become. Their distance becomes quite literal when Macbeth becomes an insomniac, his good lady a somnambulant. But in all of this, even in their distance, their falling away from each other as they react differently to grief and guilt, they still love. 

‘No man gives the _ to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow _speech who did not love the person of whom he speaks.’ 

‘I suppose,’ Vetinari remains uncertain. He moodily peruses his well marked edition. He isn’t sure how to say: I don’t want Downey touching my face for it makes my skin burn. Lady Macbeth is a witch in her own way, causing fire without kindling. 

Because you cannot say such things out loud. Least of all to a teacher. 

At length he shrugs, collects his books, and bids Winstanley a good day. 

‘I think Macbeth is a play you come to better understand with age,’ Winstanley says when Vetinari is at the door. ‘Isn’t it sad for her, that Lady Macbeth dies and her last lines are prose. She isn’t even afforded the nobility of verse in her death. It’s a sad play, and not for the reasons most think it to be.’ 

Vetinari murmurs an agreement but Winstanley isn’t looking at him. He is looking at a stained copy of the play on his desk. At the scattered costumes left by the students as they ran off after rehearsal. His smile is distant. Vetinari awkwardly says good day. He cannot imagine what it is Winstanley is thinking about. 

  
  
  


It is one day, after maths, when Downey catches Vetinari in the hallway. It is through his usual manner of: _ Eyyyy Dog-botherer, cat got your tongue? _

Vetinari sighs, slows as the other boy approaches. Slapped onto the front of the books he holds are two tickets. Downey says, ‘I’m not using mine.’ 

‘What is this?’ 

‘Tickets for the play. Winstanley has them today. Everyone is allotted two but I’m not using mine and you said you had some aunts who wanted to come--’ 

‘Right,’ Vetinari takes the tickets up with suspicion. ‘Why are you giving them to me?’ 

Downey shrugs, ‘You asked about them. And neither Ludo nor Willis need them as students don't require tickets. Therefore, you get both. Unless you don’t want them.’ He makes to snatch them away. ‘In which case I’ll take them back.’ 

Vetinari quickly shoves them into a pocket, ignores the grin spread across Downey’s face. ‘No, I want them. My aunt will be pleased. Are your parents not coming?’ 

‘No,’ Downey becomes vague. He hums something about them being very busy then calls Vetinari a scag before sauntering off down the hall. 

‘I’ve four tickets,’ Vetinari announces, laying them out on the drawing room table. Madam is delighted. She takes them up and tucks them away in her purse. 

‘How did you get the extra two? I thought the Guild was usually quite strict about attendee limitations.’ 

‘Downey gave them me.’ 

Madam raises an eyebrow, leans forward and pours them tea. She hands Vetinari his cup and saucer, the spoon clinking as he shifts to sit at a better position for tea drinking. 

‘You two are getting along, then.’ She says. 

‘For a given value of _ getting along _. He’s only being nice because we’re in the play together. As soon as it’s over I have no doubt it will be a return to the usual antics.’ 

‘Last time you were here you indicated that things were improving overall.’ 

Vetinari shrugs. Yes, sort of. He isn’t committing property damage anymore. And the amount of projectiles aimed at his head with formidable accuracy has decreased. But this sudden rash of semi-hospitable behaviour? Solely motivated by the play. 

Madam stirs in sugar and milk. She asks, ‘And his parents? Are they not coming?’ 

‘He said they were busy.’ 

Madam sips her tea and stares. 

‘What?’ Vetinari asks. 

‘Nothing.’ 

Vetinari frowns, ‘Please don’t do anything embarrassing. Like buy him a bouquet so he doesn’t feel left out. He will be fine. Downey doesn’t need encouragement. Downey has enough self-assurance it should crowd us all out of the Guild.’ 

Madam doesn’t reply. Vetinari takes this to mean she disagrees. Vetinari dearly hopes she won’t do anything to call attention to him. Every once in a while Madam takes it upon herself to feel bad for one or another of his classmates and this always results in people like Downey mocking him. And by _ people like Downey _he means solely Downey. 

‘I would never do anything to embarrass you,’ Madam says in the tone of a woman who knows the opposite is true. Taking out a handkerchief she holds it out. ‘Spit. You have a smudge of paint on the side of your face. Stealth class?’ 

Vetinari dutifully does. He cannot wait until he is too old for his mother to do this sort of thing. She laughs at his unhappy face and tells him that he is being a dear. 

  
  
  


Vetinari crosses the stage in costume. Which finally fits. There is blood on his hands and he holds twin daggers. 

Downey turns, reaches for him. Vetinari looks down at their clasped hands, both bloodied. Downey takes out a handkerchief and wipes off Vetinari’s hands though his own remain dirtied. They do not allow eyes to meet. 

‘Had it not been necessary for me to be seen abroad this night, I’d have done it.’ Vetinari hears himself say. 

‘It is no matter. The deed is done,’ Downey replies. 

Finally, they look up at each other. They are both seventeen and much older than seventeen. 

No longer on stage they stand in Satyr Square. Downey pats Vetinari’s cheek with still-bloodied hand saying, ‘I’d say this is a sorry sight but that’d be a foolish thing to say.’ 

  
  
  


‘I think we’ve been rehearsing too long,’ Vetinari says glumly to Willis. It is morning and Willis has waved Vetinari over to sit with him. They are alone for neither Ludo nor Downey have made an effort to appear for breakfast. ‘I’ve been dreaming my lines, only they’re garbled.’ 

Willis piles his plate with bacon, tomatoes, and mushrooms, ‘Oh yes. I’ve had a few strange ones myself. It’s definitely the play. It gets into your head. Ludo says it’s cursed. Then again, I’ve a fear of curses and Ludo’s been out to spook me for it entertains him to do so.’ 

‘Has he yet succeeded?’ 

‘No. But still he tries. He also tells me there are ghosts everywhere. Will brought me a present for my birthday, which is in the middle of Grune so we weren’t together to celebrate, and it was this old pill box he said belonged to his great uncle.’ 

‘Interesting.’ 

Willis shakes his head, ‘I collect them. Anyway, what is the first thing Ludo says? _ I bet it has one hundred ghosts attached to it _.’ 

‘One hundred?’ Vetinari asks. 

‘One hundred.’ 

Vetinari considers the toast on his plate. He considers his firm decision that he has no time nor inclination for boys like Downey also boys like Downey have no time nor inclination for him. But, he reasons, it is useful to have information. One never knows when it could come in handy. Madam always said that one should never discard people, books, spare buttons, or key points of knowledge. 

‘Willis,’ Vetinari adopts an air of disinterest. ‘Is Downey in love with anyone? Does he have a girl or something?’ 

Willis, always eager to discuss love, happily latches onto the subject. ‘I think so. I suspect there might be someone. He’s very cagey with information. Will subscribes to the _ don’t kiss and tell _ rule as he says it is ungentlemanly to do so.’ 

Vetinari shifts in his seat. He then carefully butters his toast but does not eat it. Willis watches him then eyes widen as some realization dawns. 

‘It’s not your girl, is it?’ Willis asks in mild panic. ‘He’s not gone and taken your girl has he?’ 

Vetinari takes up one of the slices, ‘I have no girl.’ 

‘Oh, good. I mean, it’s good that Will hasn’t gone and done something daft like woo your lass away from you. Not that he would.’ Willis ponders this then nods to himself. ‘No, that’s not something Will would do. Well, unless he doesn’t like you. Then anything is fair game.’ 

‘I don’t know if it has escaped your notice, Willis, but Downey doesn’t like me.’ 

Willis shrugs that away. That’s different. He meant people like Cooper and Creevey. The sort of people Downey _ hates _. Downey doesn’t hate Vetinari. He just -- Willis pauses to peel a boiled egg. 

‘I don’t know. Will just likes to harass you. But he doesn’t hate you. You’d know if he hated you. Anyway, I’m glad he’s not stolen your girl--’ 

‘I don’t have a girl to steal.’ 

‘As that would go against Ludo’s grand scheme for us all to be best of friends in order to avoid certain, untimely death at the hands of the cruel mistress of fate.’ 

‘Do you mean the Patrician?’ 

‘That’s what I said,’ Willis looks at him with sympathy but mostly he looks at him like he thinks Vetinari stupid. It’s possibly the first time anyone has done this and Vetinari feels that he might be affronted.


	5. Chapter 5

Final rehearsals are done in costume. Everyone fully decked out and in the great hall where a stage has been constructed. Costume alterations are complete meaning Vetinari no longer has to hold half his costume up, lest trousers drop to the floor followed by sheath and sword. It also means Downey no longer has ankles and wrists showing making it easier for him to swan around with veil on making lewd jokes with the other boys. 

Vetinari watches the display, he finds he can’t help it, but anytime Downey looks over he dives back into the script, pretending to review the lines. Whenever their eyes meet Downey makes a face or sticks out his tongue. Like the young man of grace and dignity that he is. 

‘We’re on.’

Vetinari glances up to see Downey standing with arms crossed. 

‘Come on, DB. We have to go commit murder.’ 

  
  


On stage Downey stands by an altar. The same as Lady Macbeth prays at in her first scene, invoking evil spirits to help her achieve her bloody goal. Candles are lit. It’s an eerie sight. 

Vetinari enters, there will be blood on his hands on the night of their performance but for the moment, they are clean. 

He stands at the entrance to the chapel where waits Downey. The silver-blue of the dress reflects the candle light same as the dark of Downey’s eyes. 

Vetinari walks forward, _ ‘I have done the deed_.’ 

Downey meets him centre stage, takes Vetinari’s hand in his and turns them palm up. Vetinari breaths in sharply. Downey raises an eyebrow. 

‘_This is a sorry sight, _’ Vetinari continues. 

‘_A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight_.’ 

‘_A guard cried 'God bless us!' and 'Amen' the other; as they had seen me with these hangman's hands. But I could not say 'Amen,' when they did say 'God bless us! _'’ 

Downey pulls away, back towards the altar. Vetinari follows him. 

‘_But wherefore could not I pronounce Amen? I had most need of blessing, and Amen stuck in my throat-- _’ 

(Winstanley: I need more desperation, Macbeth. You’ve just murdered your cousin. You’ve broken the rules of hospitality and guest rights. You were only just saying in the last scene that you ought to be the one barring the door against Duncan’s murderers. Not being one yourself.) 

Vetinari attempts to adopt some anguish on his face. 

Downey, firmly, ‘_These deeds must not be thought after these ways; so, it will make us mad_.’ 

‘_I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep', the innocent sleep, the death of each day's life, balm of hurt minds, chief nourisher in life's feast. _ ’ Vetinari takes Downey by the arms and pulls him close. He thinks only about his lines. He is not thinking about Downey who is childish, ridiculous, lazy and lacking cleverness but who is also handsome, deeper than expected, and complicatedly-uncomplicated. ‘_Still it cried 'Sleep no more!' to all the house: 'Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more_.'

Downey frees his arms, takes Vetinari’s hands in his own and clasps them between them, ‘_Go get some water, and wash this filthy witness from your hand.’ _ Noticing the daggers tucked in Vetinari’s belt, ‘_Why did you bring these daggers from the place?’ _ Downey takes them, pressing them to Vetinari’s chest. _ ‘They must lie there: go carry them; and smear the sleepy grooms with blood._’ 

Vetinari pulls away, _ ‘I’ll go no more. I’m afraid to think what I have done; look on it again I dare not._’ 

‘_Infirm of purpose _ ,’ Downey says. ‘_Give me the daggers: the sleep and the dead are but as pictures. T’is the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, I’ll gild the faces of the grooms withal; for it must seem to be their guilt._’ He exits. 

(Winstanley: You’re disappointed and frustrated. At this point, Lady Macbeth is running on adrenaline. Give me more stress and frustration about your husband’s lack of firmness on the matter. He’s just murdered the king and didn’t set up the crime scene correctly. What is he thinking? He’s too worried about his conscious and not focused on success. 

Downey: That’s where morals will get you. Mad and dead.) 

Downey reenters the chapel. He holds out his hands, ‘_My hands are of your colour --_’

  
  
  


The final weeks of rehearsals pile up. Vetinari thinks it could be counted a form of torture - what Winstanley is making them do. Perhaps he’s been paid to inhume the entire seventh year class and has chosen to do it by forced proximity to each other in costume. 

Vetinari has stabbed Pidgeon (the unfortunately named Peregrin Falconer), a very boisterous Duncan, so many times he’s lost count. Pidgeon has perfected the art of dying dramatically in bed. He flails nicely. 

  
  


Along the way, Willis decides Macbeth would be improved with music and so turns the witches prophecy about Birnam Wood into a song. Downey’s adds three chords to it and they spend time strolling around the guild with a guitar singing. Sometimes, Downey shout-sings it up at Vetinari’s window for something to do of an evening. 

‘Downey, I’m trying to work,’ Vetinari calls down. 

‘What fair light is in yonder window! It’s Dog-botherer. DB called by any other name would smell just the same. Which is of wet dog.’ 

Vetinari stares down at Downey. He’s half out his window and Downey grins up. With a dramatic motion he strums his guitar and walks off, singing about the march of Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane Hill. 

  
  


Cooper, the gleeful Macduff, screams _ Untimely from my mother’s womb was I ripped Dog-botherer. Shove it up yours. _ Usually while trying to beat up Vetinari _ because it seems fun. _And his usual target of Batler isn’t around. Vetinari points out that Cooper gets to run him through with a sword almost every day, isn’t that enough? 

‘Usually yes,’ Cooper replies, ‘but, alas, poor Batler isn’t present so you’ll have to do.’ 

‘Coops’, you’re certifiable,’ Downey says, whacking him upside the head. Cooper rounds on him, What’s this? Downey defending Dog-botherer? You bothering the Dog-botherer? Eh? _ Eh? _

‘Hardly, but he’s playing opposite me so let’s keep his face pretty for the next few weeks shall we,’ Downey smiles sweetly. Candy-apple sweet. Like a murderous angel. If angels had rusty hair and black eyes. He pats Cooper’s cheek. ‘You’re a grand Macduff, Coops. You’re just as full of brainless killing power as him. Though not half so interesting.’ 

Cooper mouths over the last two sentences before snarling that Downey better shut-it or there will be pain. So much pain. Downey dances backwards laughing that Cooper wishes he could best Downey. 

This promptly results in a fight that tumbles partway down the stairs before Downey disengages and gets up. He dusts himself off, sniffing primly, ‘That’s not the done thing, Coops. That’s not the done thing at all. Anyway, I thought we had arrived at an understanding which is: you keep your head down and I won’t knock it about.’ 

Cooper, glowering up from a few stairs below Downey, calls him a right prick. Downey shrugs, if he must be mean about it that’s Cooper’s problem. Not his. 

Downey, with split lip and a shiner on his right cheek, pushes past Vetinari not meeting his eye. Mutters that DB is a scag and stalks off. 

  
  


A night in the midst of all of this, Vetinari is once again attempting to make tea with the hot water from the bathroom. He ponders how much trouble he would get into if he snuck down to the kitchens and boiled a proper pot. 

More than he would like. More than what the cup of tea is worth. 

But, it would be a great experiment to see how his stealth tactics are working. He’s trying new ones. It would be a prime opportunity. He files the idea away for later. Right now, it’s gone midnight and he wants his sleepy-time tea and his latest Charlotte LaRoux book. This one is about a daughter who is escaping her cold hearted father. He has been promised Adventure on the High Seas and a Dashing Dread Pirate. Also fight scenes and possible murder. He’s terribly excited. 

The hot water is taking longer than usual to begin steaming. 

The bathroom door opens. Someone shuffles in, barefoot by the sounds of it. Vetinari looks up to see Downey in only nightshift reflected in the mirror. He has a toothbrush in his mouth and a tragic case of bed-head. Downey stares at Vetinari and continues brushing his teeth. 

At length the water is hot enough for mediocre steeping and Vetinari fills his mug. 

‘You know you can sneak into the kitchens,’ Downey says around his brush. His shiner has gone down and the lip looks improved. ‘It’s not that hard.’ 

‘It’s only a cup of tea.’ 

Downey shrugs. Rinses his mouth and brush. He then faces Vetinari, blocking much of his path from the bathroom. Downey tilts his head to the side with an expression of deep consideration. What he is thinking Vetinari cannot fathom. 

Downey glances down to the tea, to Vetinari’s stockinged feet, back up to his face. ‘Are you looking forward to it?’

‘To what, Downey?’ 

‘The play.’

‘I’m looking forward to when this exercise is complete and I can return to my normal schedule.’ 

A fraction of a smile. Downey appears to be waiting for something. Vetinari can’t think what it would be so makes his excuses and bids good evening. Side stepping around Downey he decants to his bedroom. 

  
  
  


‘Willis,’ Vetinari runs after the other boy. Catches him by the sleeve. ‘Willis, question.’ 

Willis frets, looks at Vetinari then down the hall, ‘I’m going to be late, DB.’ 

‘When you think you should perhaps kiss a person, is there a strange wait period before hand? As in, they will look at you with expectation and then you’re supposed to do it?’ 

Willis laughs, takes Vetinari’s hand and shakes. ‘Who’s the lucky lady?’ 

‘I’m asking out of prurient curiosity.’ Vetinari stoically replies. 

‘Sure. Don’t worry, I won’t pry. You’re a gentleman, of course you won’t give out the lady’s name. But usually, yes. She’ll indicate that you’re allowed with her body language. You know, lean in a bit, look you dead in the eye and blink slowly. Tilt the head a little to the side,’ Willis mimics the expression. ‘It’s difficult to miss. Granted, Katrina just said, _ this is when you kiss me._ So some are quite forward, which is very helpful.’ 

A teacher’s voice cuts down the hall, ‘Mr. Wilson, Mr. Vetinari. You’re late.’ 

Willis grins, ‘I want to hear all about it at dinner. You can keep it high level of course.’ 

‘_Gentlemen_.’ 

Willis punches Vetinari’s shoulder then dashes off down the hall with Vetinari trailing behind. 

  
  


Of course, Vetinari thinks as he dodges questions from Willis and Downey moodily prods his vegetables, this isn’t a normal situation. He cannot apply the typical approach to it. Downey isn’t going to behave like Willis’ Katrina or any of his other girls. He’s going to be weird and irascible and difficult. He’s going to be a minor horror, like he usually is. 

‘What’re you staring at, Dog-botherer?’ Downey snaps. 

‘Nothing, Downey.’ 

‘Scag,’ muttered under his breath. 

‘Yes, Downey.’ 

Some things never change.


	6. Chapter 6

Opening night. Which is, to be fair, their only showing. The Assassins Guild will happily indulge the occasional desire of parents to witness their children doing Educational Yet Endearing things but only for a limited time. 

And, Dr. Winstanley refuses to do more than one night on account of his Ailments. Which are mostly stress, exhaustion, and a depleting ability to care. 

The stage, being constructed in a temporary location in the great Hall, means the backstage is the east-wing hallway which connects to the great Hall. It is currently overrun with seventeen year olds high on adrenaline, cheap coffee, tea, and the dodgy gin Downey snuck in. He brought it saying that he read a biography about one of Ankh-Morpork’s greatest actors, Jonas Bright, and Jonas Bright claimed he never went on stage with out a small tipple to get through the nerves. 

‘He was a giant,’ Downey says. ‘One of the greats.’ 

Vetinari, sharing the temporary make-up stand next to Downey (desks shoved together with mirrors propped up), quickly learns that Downey has not only an encyclopedic knowledge of plants, fungi, and insects, but also an encyclopedic knowledge of actors from thirty to fifty years ago. _ The golden period_, Downey calls it. 

He puts this down to Downey’s thwarted, childhood desires to become an _ actor_. 

‘You nervous, DB?’ Downey asks. 

‘No.’ 

‘Not even a little?’ 

‘I know my lines, I know what I am to do and when. I see no reason why I should be nervous.’ 

Downey makes a face of _ I don’t believe you _ but says no more. Vetinari says that it’s fine if Downey is nervous. He understands that having butterflies the night-of is to be expected. 

‘I’m not nervous either,’ Downey counters. ‘Just as you say, there’s no reason to be.’ 

Vetinari doesn’t point out Downey’s bouncing leg and fidgetiness. It would put him in worse of a mood which would benefit neither of them. 

Behind them swoops in Willis, dressed in rags of grey and green with a headdress of antlers and sticks. He wiggles his fingers and goes ‘oooooooo’ then waves his arms, mimicking a ghost. 

Downey twists around, ‘You should wear that all the time.’ 

‘I know, I’m thinking of making it my new go-to outfit for parties. Ludo’s here.’ 

Emerging from a group composed of the remaining witches, Lady Macduff, and a few murderers is Ludo carrying a brown bag, the bottom discoloured with grease. 

‘I brought donoughts,’ Ludo explains. ‘When I did mine last year I couldn’t eat real food for the nerves. But the donoughts helped.’

Downey snatches the bag and eagerly pilfers two for himself before passing it over to Willis. 

‘You’ll do great,’ Ludo continues. He lounges on the props table, dressed in his finest. ‘I’m looking forward to all the gore. You all got lucky. Much Ado was fun and all, but there’s nothing quite like stabbing someone on stage in an overtly theatrical manner.’ 

‘I believe you’re supposed to say _ break a leg, _ ’ Vetinari says. He’s smearing makeup across his face for the _ in-the-midst-of-battle _ look. ‘That’s traditional, I understand.’ 

Ludo dryly, ‘Break a leg then, Vetinari.’ 

‘He’s a pedant,’ Downey explains. ‘It’s deeply obnoxious.’ 

Vetinari watches Ludo smile at Downey through the mirror before leaning over and ruffling Downey’s hair saying he’s just as bad but only if it’s about nature. 

‘Nature’s important,’ Downey sniffs. ‘We’d be dead without it.’ 

Ludo stands, saying he should get out to the audience. Reclaim his seat before an erstwhile parent takes it. Jacob was supposed to save it for him but Ludo isn’t sure how dedicated to the task he was. He gives Willis a hug, planting grey face-paint on his cheek, then gives Downey a half-hug as he’s seated and figuring out stage makeup. Vetinari gets a punch in the arm. 

‘Break a leg you nerds,’ Ludo says. ‘Can’t wait to chuck tomatoes at you.’ 

‘He’s a charmer,’ Vetinari mutters once Ludo has departed. 

‘Oh, he’s the best,’ Downey declares with great conviction. ‘Ludo’s a real brick.’ 

  
  


_ So foul and fair a day I have not seen. _

Classmates lay strewn across the stage, pretending to be dead or dying. There is much wailing. Great theatrics. Vetinari can see Winstanley sighing deeply in the wings. 

_All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of Glamis!_

_All hail, Macbeth, hail to thee, thane of Cawdor!_

_ All hail, Macbeth, thou shalt be king hereafter! _

Willis and his co-witches are appropriately disconcerting. Though, the dry-ice induced fog that was supposed to herald their entrance was less than enthusiastic about doing its office. 

_Lesser than Macbeth, and greater._

_Not so happy, yet much happier._

_ Thou shalt get kings, though thou be none: So all hail, Macbeth and Banquo! _

_ Banquo and Macbeth, all hail! _

Vetinari wonders if Macbeth and Lady Macbeth had children but lost them. If they did, what a piercing proclamation this would be. How that would drive their madness further - knowing what could have been but wasn’t. 

_ If chance will have me king, why, chance may crown me, without my stir. Come what come may, time and the hour runs through the roughest day. _

  
  


Madam and three of her ladies, Missy (Rose), Angie (Athena), and Lilian (Sophia) sit in the second row. Vetinari stands in the wings watching both them and Downey as he reads the letter Macbeth sent. 

The stage is lit with candles and mimics a temple, or some secret, sacred space. 

“_\--these weird sisters saluted me, and referred me to the coming on of time, with 'Hail, king that shalt be!' This have I thought good to deliver thee, my dearest partner of greatness, that thou mightst not lose the dues of rejoicing. Lay it to thy heart, and farewell._”

The letter is folded and tucked into sleeve. Downey is seated on his knees and has managed to pool the skirts of the dress around him like a lake of shimmering blue. The veil is pinned to hide short-cropped hair, which had been an argument. Winstanley saying that there is no need for wigs, they cost too much. Downey arguing about authenticity and being true to the play. It hadn’t gone in Downey’s favour. 

Vetinari snorts, And Downey says _ he’s _the pedantic one. 

_ Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be what thou art promised: yet do I fear thy nature; it is too full o' the milk of human kindness to catch the nearest way_.

The messenger arrives on stage, bows. Declares that Macbeth will be arriving with Duncan, the king. Downey’s smile can only be described as serpentine. 

_Come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, and fill me from the crown to the toe top-full_ _of direst cruelty! make thick my blood; stop up access and passage to remorse, that no compunctious visitings of nature shake my fell purpose._

_Come, thick night, and pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, that my keen knife see not the wound it makes, nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,_ _to cry 'Hold, hold!'_

Vetinari enters. Downey stands. Vetinari crosses the stage, taking Downey’s hands and pulling him close. 

_ My dearest love, Duncan comes here to-night. _

_ And when goes hence? _

_ To-morrow, as he purposes. _

_ O, never shall sun that morrow see! _

Downey’s hands are warm. His expression is excitement and cruelty. Vetinari wonders if this is how he looks before an inhumation. He’s never considered what Downey would look like when taking life. 

  
  


_If we should fail?_

_ We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking-place, and we'll not fail. _

The stabbing of Ducan results in great cheers from fellow students. Vetinari is certain he heard Ludo excitably say, ‘About time we had some murder.’ 

Vetinari looks down at Pidgeon and snorts. Pidgeon winks, whispers, ‘I always knew Ludo was out for my blood.’ 

A discreet cough from the wings and Vetinari looks up to see Winstanley’s expressive face clearly saying _ get on with it_. 

_ My husband! _

_ I have done the deed. _

Vetinari’s hands are sticky with chicken’s blood and, when he grasps Downey’s, it smears over pale palms staining the hem of his sleeves. Rusty red on silver. Downey stares at their joined hands then meets Vetinari’s eye and Vetinari thinks, I believe I’ve been misreading him this entire time. I believe I wasn’t supposed to step away that night in the bathroom. 

Vetinari reaches up and cups Downey’s face so cheek and chin are red as well. 

_ Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather the multitudinous seas in incarnadine, making the green one red. _

_ My hands are of your colour; but I shame to wear a heart so white_.

  
  


Vetinari cannot help but look out over the audience when he is crowned. He finds Madam watching with amusement. As are his unofficial aunts. Missy waves cheerfully when she catches his eye. 

Standing, he takes the second crown and with great solemnity places it upon Downey’s head. Downey whispers, ‘You’re being very melodramatic, Dog-botherer.’ 

Once it’s on Downey stands and turns to face the audience. The expression is one of pure smugness. Vetinari feels Lady Macbeth wouldn’t be smug in this moment. She would be grave and somber, like Macbeth. 

But maybe not. Maybe she would be smug. She was, after all, the one who procured for them the throne. She was, after all, the true king-maker. 

  
  


And now, for the descent. 

_ There's blood on thy face. _

_ 'Tis Banquo's then. _

_ Tis better thee without than he within. Is he dispatch'd? _

_ My lord, his throat is cut; that I did for him_.

Banquo’s murder is met with the same enthusiasm as Duncan’s with his body being dragged off stage amidst jeers of ‘you could have taken them’ from the crowd. Vetinari isn’t sure his colleagues understand that this is a play and it is the character Banquo who was ostensibly fighting the murderers, not a fellow assassin. 

Backstage, Banquo is hurriedly painted white with a red line across throat. His garments powdered with flower. The ghost at the banquet. 

Banquo, transformed by death, re-enters and sits in Macbeth’s seat. This gathers a hushed _ ooooo _ from the crowd. Vetinari is pleased with this for the scene is magnificently done. 

_ The times have been, that, when the brains were out, the man would die, and there an end; but now they rise again, with twenty mortal murders on their crowns, and push us from our stools_.

Downey, as Vetinari raves about the ghost, tries to tug him away from the table towards the stage exit. Vetinari twists around, points to the dead with shaking hand. 

_ Let the earth hide thee! Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; thou hast no speculation in those eyes which thou dost glare with! _

An arm around Vetinari’s waist, Downey orders the courtiers to leave. The banquet hall empties save for Banquo who watches from the king’s seat then he too rises and leaves. 

Together, alone, Lord and Lady Macbeth sink to the floor. 

_ It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood_.

  
  


The reappearance of the Wyrd Sisters. Vetinari stands in the wings, waiting for his cue to enter and allows himself momentary jealousy. He truly ought to have been one. They’re dancing around a cauldron! They’ve been shouted at by a goddess! What marvelous things. 

_ Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble _

_ Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog — _

_ By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes. Open, locks, Whoever knocks! _

Vetinari walks on stage. The green light casts an uncanny glow making the makeup of the three witches even more foul and goulish. 

_ How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags! What is't you do? _

_ A deed without a name. _

There are many deeds without names. It’s how shame works, Vetinari was once told. Created in public but born out in private - most importantly, denied name. He can feel Downey watching him from stage left. He is in a lady’s dressing gown for he’s soon to go mad and die. 

_ Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Macduff; beware the thane of Fife. _

_Be bloody, bold, and resolute; laugh to scorn the power of man, for none of woman born_ _ shall harm Macbeth._

_ Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill shall come against him_.

A murmur from students in the crowd as they hum the tune Willis and Downey made about Great Birnam wood. General shushing ensues. The witches finish their scene and slide off the stage amidst still lacklustre fog. 

  
  


Though he doesn’t wish to admit it, Vetinari is annoyed that Cooper is actually quite good as grief stricken Macduff. Crying out _ But I must also feel it as a man _ upon hearing of the death of son and wife he clings to Malcolm. 

A whisper against Vetinari’s ear from Downey, ‘I’m surprised he knows what grief is. Coops only cares for himself.’ 

The breath is warm.Downey stands very close. 

Vetinari, without turning around, replies, ‘Many would say the same for you, Downey.’ 

‘Sure. But they’re all scags.’ 

  
  


It is a switching of spots. Cooper off stage and Downey on. 

_ Out, damned spot! out, I say!--One: two: why, then, 'tis time to do't.--Hell is murky!--Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account?--Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him_.

The stage is set up the same as his first scene, with candles and the appearance of a temple. Only, the silver-blue gown, with its snakeish beauty, has been traded in for plain nightshift and gown. 

Cooper scoffs, ‘He’s good at playing a mad woman. Says something about him, don’t you think?’ 

Vetinari replies evenly, ‘I don’t think it signifies anything, save that he can act.’ 

_ The thane of Fife had a wife: where is she now?--What, will these hands ne'er be clean? _

Winstanley said it was a sad thing that Lady Macbeth was not given the dignity of death in verse. She dies off-stage and her last words are prose. She is reduced to the point of disappearance through language, for in the Bard’s time verse was the noble language, prose perverse and base. To be heard was to speak in verse; prose is to be ignored. 

Anyone would go mad if they were being disappeared. Husband sleepless and raving, vanishing at all hours to commune with witches. Lady Macbeth sequestered away in the bedroom and declared ill. Confined to the care of doctors which means, even if you spoke verse, no one would listen. 

Never mind the dead haunting corners of room and mind. 

_ Here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Klatch will not sweeten this hand. _

_ Wash, put on your nightgown; look not so pale. To bed, to bed! there's knocking at the gate: come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What's done cannot be undone.--To bed, to bed, to bed! _

Lady Macbeth exits. The last time she will as a living woman. 

  
  


‘You know,’ Willis muses during a scene change. ‘I think I feel bad for them. The Macbeths. They loved each other. They did it all for love. Who wouldn’t murder for love?’ 

Downey agrees, ‘Absolutely. I’d stab a man for the sake of love.’ 

Vetinari looks over with an unimpressed expression. Willis shrugs. Downey sneers, ‘What, Dog-botherer? Think yourself above it all.’ 

‘Hardly, Downey.’ 

Willis, ‘No, no, he’s got a girl, Will. He’s in love.’ 

‘There’s no girl, Willis,’ Vetinari insists. 

Willis winks, ‘Right. Of course. But to kill for love, it’s romantic. To go that far, to make such a fierce statement of _ I’ll throw my soul to the wind for you_. I’d be honoured to have someone willing to do that for me. But the Macbeths, they’re a true tragedy. One of twilight and the setting-in of darkness upon a human soul.’

Downey snorts, ‘What rot is that?’ 

‘True rot,’ Willis replies with smile. ‘Whether you like it or not.’ 

  
  


Downey plays dead on stage. He’s laid out on a bed and Vetinari enters the room with the line _ The queen, my lord, is dead_. 

Approaching Vetinari sits on the edge of the bed and, taking up Downey’s body, holds it against him as he slides off bed to floor so he kneels with the body. A muffled whisper from Downey, ‘My armpits hurt.’ Vetinari doesn’t reply but shifts for better weight distribution. 

_ She should have died hereafter; there would have been a time for such a word. _

The veil makes petting hair difficult but Vetinari does his best. He assumes grief-stricken husbands stroke their dead wives’ hair. That always seems to occur in novels. 

_ To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time, and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! _

Carefully, Vetinari lays Downey on the floor, and, continuing to kneel, sits back onto his heels. 

_ Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. _

Vetinari breaths in, leans over, and kisses Downey.


	7. Chapter 7

After the curtain falls and everyone has taken their bow Downey grabs Vetinari and hauls him into a corner. 

‘What was that?’ He hisses. 

‘Seemed to be in character for the scene,’ Vetinari replies. 

Downey’s first still clutching the fabric of Vetinari’s costume. His face contorts through various emotions. Vetinari thinks it a rather unattractive display. He thinks, Maybe I’ve misread my own thoughts on this matter. Maybe I’ve no interest in Downey at all and it was merely a product of close proximity and forced intimacy. 

Downey’s hand flattens on Vetinari’s chest. He then steps back, breaths out. ‘We should go out and see the crowd. Your aunts will be expecting you.’ 

Vetinari nods. Neither move. 

Vetinari, ‘You still have chicken blood on your cheek. On the side here.’ He indicates. 

‘That’s because you smeared it all over my face.’ 

‘I didn’t smear it all over your face. I touched one cheek,’ Vetinari replies, voice level. 

Downey mutters something that sounds like _ yeah, whatever_. They continue to not move. Vetinari thinks, once again, there is an expectation of something sitting here. But! he’s decided he has no interest in Downey. He just decided it one minute ago. 

Downey’s eyes are stormy and then they are very close as Vetinari finds himself tugged forward and Downey’s mouth presses against his, Downey’s hands against jaw then in hair. Vetinari’s heart first beats in his chest then it beats in his stomach then groin. 

Vetinari is very warm and he wants to continue being warm. He wants to continue feeling Downey close. He isn’t sure what else he wants but he knows, at the very least, he wants that. He clutches at Downey’s waist, an awkward scrambling motion. 

He thinks he should do something more. Should his hands be somewhere else, should he realign his head, is it right and proper that their teeth and noses are in the way? His cheeks burn, he blames it on Downey being so close. Where does Willis learn all of this, or does he learn it from Katrina? Where did Katrina learn it? He assumes there must be a book or two on the matter. Maybe one of those pamphlets that some of the boys chortle over and hide from teachers. He could ask one of Madam’s girls but he’s never liked to assume too much on their good graces and kindness. Also, they would tease. Mortifying. 

Downey pulls away. Vetinari wishes he hadn’t. 

‘That, Dog-botherer, is how you kiss someone.’ 

‘I’m not sure I required a demonstration.’ 

‘You did,’ Downey states. ‘You’ll thank me later. Or your wife will.’ 

Vetinari, breathless, shocked, watches Downey walk across the stage and exit through curtains to the audience. 

  
  


Madam and his unofficial aunts crowd around when Vetinari finally appears from behind the curtains and drops from stage to ground. Madam gives him a bouquet, declaring he was marvelous as Macbeth. 

Vetinari refrains from pointing out that all mothers (aunts) are required to say these things. He accepts the flowers and says thank you very nicely. 

‘And where is your leading lady?’ 

‘I don’t know. He went off somewhere after the curtain closed.’ Knowing the look on Madam’s face he sighs, says he’ll go find Downey and drag him over. Before departing he juts out bottom lip, ‘You said you weren’t going to do anything embarrassing.’ 

‘Congratulating your co-star is not embarrassing, Havelock dear.’ 

Vetinari squints. He declares that this is all a bit much but, inevitably, scuttles off on the mission of locating Lady Macbeth. Knowing Downey to be a social sort, Vetinari dives into the melee of fellow students eventually finding Downey with Willis and Ludo. Ludo wears the crown, it’s on at an angle, and Willis in the midst of reenacting one of the Wyrd Sisters’ scenes. Vetinari hovers awkwardly at the edge of their group until Ludo notices him and cries, ‘Hail, Thane of Cawdor.’ 

Vetinari steps forward. Downey becomes very interested in talking to Willis. A sigh, Vetinari prods Downey, ‘My aunt wishes to have a word with you. I believe she means to compliment the performance as she has taken it upon herself to bestow kindness on my classmates.’ 

Ludo laughs, a sharp bark of _ Ha_, before rolling eyes in an overly dramatic fashion. Downey’s mouth opens, he doesn’t speak, there is confusion in his eyes, his mouth remains open. He looks not unlike a fish. Gormless. 

‘Come on,’ Vetinari hisses, grabbing his arm and hauling him through the crowd. ‘Sooner we speak with her the sooner it’s over.’

Downey yanks his arm free, hisses that he doesn’t need to be manhandled in front of relatives. He can transport himself thither adequately. Vetinari doubts that. 

Returning to Madam and her ladies Vetinari presents Downey. Or, Lady Macbeth. The aunts are suitably fawning. Downey charms. He’s evidently one of those students who can enter into Parent Mode with ease. Behind the charm, though, sits mild confusion and, behind the confusion, Vetinari believes he can see mental gears turning slowly. Very, very slowly. Vetinari isn’t sure he wants to be present to hear whatever conclusion it is that Downey comes to. 

When Madam provides Downey with a bouquet Vetinari decides this would be an opportune time for lightning to strike him down. 

It doesn’t. 

‘You were excellent,’ Madam says with warmth. ‘Very well done, if I do say so myself.’ 

Downey’s confusion becomes pleasure and he preens. Vetinari has witnessed Downey preening on many an occasion. None of them quite match up to how much Downey is preening at this moment. Vetinari isn’t sure he wants to witness such a thing again. 

‘Thank you, er-- ’ Downey says, pausing over what he should call her. Vetinari waits for the inevitable Mrs-Dog-Botherer’s-Aunt he assumes Downey will use. But it doesn’t come. Madam fills him in on her naming convention and oh,_ now _ the gears click in Downey’s head. 

Downey’s face is wicked glee and amusement. If they were in private Vetinari suspects Downey would be leering. 

Madam continues, ‘Does the Guild do any other theatrical productions? I would be mildly interested in attending further productions. Your interpretations are certainly novel.’ 

‘No, it’s only the seventh years,’ Downey replies. He is back in Parent Mode. He smiles politely, stands with perfect posture. ‘It’s what one might term a Right of Passage. Not unlike the Test, only less deadly. Unless you’re Theo, who almost lit himself on fire three times back stage.’ 

‘Ah, that is a shame. You’re a natural.’ ’ 

Vetinari continues to wish for lightning to strike him down. His skin itches. Everything feels sticky. Downey’s pleasure, full of arrogance and pride, oozes from him. His snobbery has quadrupled. Vetinari grips his bouquet tightly, imprinting stems onto palms. His face, despite the inner turmoil, remains neutral. 

With a toss of his head, Downey grins at Vetinari. ‘Did you hear that? I’m a natural—’ Abruptly, lips press into thin line. An unappealing expression. Vetinari raises an eyebrow. He hadn’t expected the presence of guardians to stop Downey. But Downey isn’t looking at him but over his shoulder. 

Vetinari has heard the expression _ and then my soul left my body _but has never witnessed it. Until this moment. 

Downey turns to Madam, the smile has returned but it’s distant. His mouth is configured in a happy expression but it stops half-way up the face. The eyes are panicked. ‘Um, I have to go. Um, thank you.’ Shoving the flowers at Vetinari he mutters, ‘My parents are here, DB. Hold these.’ 

Then, without another word, he ducks into the crowd and makes for the door to the backstage. 

Madam lifts her eyebrows. Vetinari shrugs. 

‘His parents are here,’ he says. He isn’t sure if this is a suitable explanation for the sudden departure. 

‘I see.’

Vetinari wants to ask what it is she sees because it’s evidently more than him. His unofficial aunts exchange meaningful glances Vetinari wants to interpret. Their eyes are saying things, he wishes they’d all speak plainly. 

‘Well, be sure he gets his flowers back. Are you still available for lunch tomorrow?’ 

‘Yes, Madam. Shall we say one?’ 

‘Excellent.’ She pulls him into a hug and plants a kiss on his forehead saying that she is very proud of him and he did an excellent job despite not getting the part he wanted. He then gets a similar display of affection from his other aunts. Once gone, Vetinari troops to the backstage and spends several minutes attempting to remove lip rouge-stains, of varying tints, from his forehead. 

  
  


It is gone half-eleven when Vetinari decides to find Downey for his bouquet is cluttering up Vetinari’s desk space. Knocking on Downey’s door he formulates a series of openers beyond: ‘Here are your flowers. My aunt bid me to give them you.’ Which is, on the whole, a lackluster greeting. 

Alas, Downey is not in his room. Or, maybe he is but not answering the door out of some perverse desire to be obnoxious. Or, maybe he’s asleep. 

Vetinari, deciding it’s probably too early for Downey to be asleep, troops off to the common room which is Downey’s usual haunt, besides the courtyard and an unused classroom on the second floor. 

Voices can be heard from down the hall. Gentle murmurings. Vetinari thinks one is Ludo’s, catches another that is Willis, and ah yes. There’s Downey. He marches forward with grim determination. 

The room is surprisingly quiet for a Friday night. Ludo, Willis and Downey lounge on couches before the grand fireplace which is flanked by statues of lions who have seen better days. Willis remains in half of his witch costume and Downey continues to wear his crown. Ludo wears the royal robes from the coronation scene. 

They stop talking when Vetinari arrives between couches. 

‘My aunt wanted me to make sure you got these,’ he says, jutting the flowers forward. 

‘No fair! Those are much better than mine,’ Willis complains. ‘My grandfather’s offering was paltry in comparison.’ 

Downey, judging by hazy expression, is drunk. Or, on his way to being drunk. Standing, he takes the flowers then returns to the couch, throwing himself down in a theatrical manner. Ludo glances at Vetinari, makes an evident calculation, explains without actually explaining: ‘Will’s dad is a prick.’ 

Downey huffs, ‘It’s more complicated than that. He’s doing what he thinks is right. You know how it is.’ Downey’s arm flops out to wave about in a dismissive manner.

Ludo purses lips, ‘That doesn’t make him not a prick.’ 

‘It’s difficult.’ 

‘Right.’ 

‘He’s my father. His father was the same. It’s how it is.’ 

‘Sure.’ 

Downey sits up, squints at Ludo, ‘You can hate him. I shan’t. He’s paying for my beautifully exquisite education at this fine institution, which is very generous of him.’ 

Ludo opens his mouth then closes it. He makes a face but says no more. 

Downey, pouring himself a new drink, seems to remember Vetinari’s presence and twists to blink at him. ‘What are you still doing here, DB?’ 

‘I’m just going,’ Vetinari mutters. 

‘No, no,’ Willis slaps the space next to him on the couch. ‘You should stay. We’re lamenting. More is better when lamenting. Have a gin.’ 

‘I don’t want a gin.’ 

‘Will, make him a gin.’ 

Downey does. Ludo motions for a refill and Downey obliges. 

‘Say,’ Ludo says, swallowing a mouthful. ‘When are you home next?’ 

‘Summer,’ Downey sighs. ‘I’ve made excuses for Hogswatch this year.’ 

‘Look, he’ll probably have forgotten about this by summer. Or, if not forgotten, he’ll be over it.’

‘Sure,’ Downey rubs his face. ‘Maybe, but I doubt it. He has a long memory. Like an elephant. A very meticulous elephant with a firm belief in the importance of repetition. Like when I was young, he’d go through my journals, find all the words I spelled wrong and would make me write them out one hundred times. Which was a waste of effort for all involved for I still cannot spell. Anyway, I suspect I’ll end up chopping wood for three months, or something.’ 

Vetinari swallows down his gin with a grimace. Willis cheerfully refills his glass. Coming into Lamentations of Family at a half-way point takes some catching up, but he thinks he’s following the cause and effect. 

For clarification Vetinari asks: ‘So, he’s going to make you chop wood, all summer, because you were in a play?’ 

‘Yes. Well, more because I played Lady Macbeth. My dad has_ expectations_ for me. Playing Lady Macbeth is not the _ done thing _. He’s going to be a horror. Had I been a guard, or something, I think he’d make an exception as it was a school requirement. Anyway, I didn’t think they’d come. I didn’t give them their tickets.’ 

Ludo, ‘Follett won’t turn parents away if they show up for things, even if they don’t have tickets. Keep the goose that lays the golden egg happy and all.’ 

Vetinari remains confused about the wood chopping. He can’t see how that relates to parental upset about theatre productions. ‘May I ask what the purpose of that exercise is? The chopping of the wood. I don’t understand the correlation.’ 

‘It’s his tactic when he thinks I need shaping up. _ Proper molding _ as he calls it. I’m very good at chopping wood, by the way. It’s why I have such good hand-eye coordination. Apparently hand-eye coordination makes you a proper Ankh-Morpork man.’ 

‘At the very least, an Ankh-Morpork man with properly murderous aim,’ Willis says. 

‘Yes,’ Downey snorts. ‘That too.’ 

Ludo pours them all another drink then declares they need cheering up. No one made a fool of themselves on stage (well, mostly) and no one died. That is a success, by all accounts. Therefore, they should be cheerful. 

Downey leaps on this, ‘We should play King’s Cup. Or, uh, Thane of Cawdor Cup, to keep it thematically appropriate.’ 

Moving to the floor a pack of cards is procured and fanned out in a circle around a cup filled with gin and whatever else Ludo and Downey could scrounge. It becomes apparent, partway through, that despite his never engaging in such games with any regularity, Vetinari is going to win the night. And by win the night, he will remain (slightly) more sober and not have to drink the melange in the middle of the cards. 

By a quarter to one Willis has lost, consumed the foul concoction as punishment, and crawled back onto a couch to pass out. Downey rolls him onto his side and pats his head. 

Ludo, blinking slowly at the remaining two, says, ‘I think the room is sideways. I think— I think that means I should go to bed.’ 

Downey agrees, yes, yes that means it’s a Ludo bedtime. Rooms shouldn’t be sideways. As Ludo leaves Downey hollers, ‘Get home safe.’ 

‘We live upstairs, Downey.’ 

‘Very dangerous stairs!’ 

Ludo waves at him, tells him he’s drunk (Downey helpfully replies, ‘You’re drunk too Mr. Room Is Sideways’), then leaves. 

Thus, two remain. 

Vetinari says he should probably go to sleep, as well. It’s late. They’ve had a lot to drink. He doesn’t say that he is very warm and Downey keeps staring at him with his disheveled hair and lop-sided crown which makes him even warmer. 

‘Why’d you come here?’ Downey asks. 

‘Um, to the Guild?’ 

‘To this room.’ 

‘To deliver the flowers my aunt bought you.’ Vetinari motions to the bouquet in case Downey needed a visual reminder. ‘They’re very nice.’ 

‘Yes, they are. Very nice. I send my thanks. Why’d you kiss me?’ 

Vetinari hiccups. Presses a hand over his mouth. Downey grins for a second then returns to somber inquisitiveness. 

‘As I said,’ Vetinari replies. ‘It seemed in character. Macbeth loved his wife. I think— The books I’ve read, when someone dies, there’s a lot of weeping and kissing of the corpse. I didn’t think I could do the weeping bit so that left the, uh, kissing of the corpse bit.’ 

‘I see.’ 

Vetinari, through hiccups, insists that it was a logical decision. After all, he spent the last many months analysing the character. Macbeth would kiss his wife’s dead body. This is a sound interpretation. 

Downey says, ‘Alright, then.’ 

Vetinari holds his breath, puts arms over his head in an attempt to dispel the hiccups. Downey suggests drinking water upside down but the thought makes Vetinari nauseous. After several attempts at holding breath and stretching in various directions he manages to vanquish them. 

‘Downey.’ 

‘Hm?’ 

‘Why did you kiss me backstage?’ 

Downey blinks owlishly. ‘Seemed the thing to do.’ 

‘Right.’ 

Downey plays with his hands. He folds the top edge of his boot over then straight again then over then straight. The fire makes its fiery noise of wood snapping, pops of sap. Vetinari suspects this is another one of those moments where he ought to do something but it’s different from before. Mostly because they are drunk and Downey is morose. Downey generally doesn’t do morose. 

Now that he thinks about it, Vetinari isn’t sure he’s ever seen Downey sad. Angry, frustrated, let-down, sure. But never sad. Always ready with a smile and a (bad) joke is Downey. 

‘I’m sure Ludo’s right,’ Vetinari says for something to say. ‘I’m sure it’ll be alright.’ 

‘Probably,’ Downey agrees without much conviction. ‘Yeah, it’ll be fine. Look, Dog-botherer.’ 

‘Yes, Downey?’ 

‘This uh, temporary peace, tête-à-tête, whatever it’s called—’ 

‘Detente. It’s a detente.’ 

‘Right, detente. It’s not been too bad.’ 

Vetinari agrees. It’s been alright. It’s been acceptable. Certainly less of a hassle for him. Though he doesn’t add the last part for it might provoke retaliation on Downey’s part. 

Downey licks lips and says, with gaze on the fire, ‘We might uh, continue it, shall we? I mean, one never knows when weirdos like you will be useful to have on one’s side.’ 

Vetinari snorts, struggles to stand. Downey, still seated on the floor turns from fire to Vetinari and watches as he finds his balance, using the unconscious form of Willis. 

‘I think that’d be delightful, Downey.’ Vetinari, deciding standing was a poor life choice, sits on the arm rest. ‘I think you were the right one to be Lady Macbeth. Between the two of us. But really, I should’ve been a Wyrd Sister.’ 

‘And I wanted to be the murderer who stabs Banquo. But, I mean, DB, we’re neither of them. We’re not Macbeth or his lady. We’re made of firmer stuff. We’d have more success if we were to take power. No, uh,’ he pauses to grope for words. Vetinari thinks it’s a mildly endearing expression. For a given value of endearing. 

Downey finds what he was looking for. ‘What I mean is, we wouldn’t go the way of Winder and Snapcase and the Macbeths. We’re too good for that. And if you did,’ he wags a finger at Vetinari. ‘Don’t worry. I wouldn’t let you linger.’ 

Vetinari thinks this a charmingly romantic sentiment. He says, ‘That’s very sweet of you.’ Then, with not much grace, he walks over to Downey, hauls him to his feet and kisses him. Sloppily. Their teeth hit. Lips sometimes end up on chin. It’s messy and warm. Vetinari thinks it fitting, since Downey is messy and warm. Overall. Except in his work. He’s very orderly with his butterflies and his other bugs and those weird plants he collects that eat flies. 

‘What was that for?’ Downey asks. A worried glance at Willis who continues to snore. 

‘Seemed,’ Vetinari points a finger into Downey’s chest. ‘Like the thing to do. You’re very inconvenient.’ With drunken flourish he spins around, wobbles, then manages a reasonably straight line for the common room door. 

A commotion behind him, Downey’s tripped over a stool and let out a series of _ fuck _ and _ cunt _ and _ scag. _The crown falls from head and lands under a table. It’s left there. 

‘DB, wait. I need to tell you my plans.’ 

‘Plans?’ 

‘For when I’m rich and powerful. I have many of them. I cannot wait to have more money than the Gods intended and I guess you can be a part of them if you want. My plans. But only if you’re not an absolute scag. Um, I can tell you them. If you want.’ 

Vetinari looks at Downey with his enthusiasm, considers his options for the night, then says, ‘Sure, Downey, I would indeed like that. Very much so.’ 

**Author's Note:**

> Despite the best (terrible) efforts of Downey's father, Downey remains very gay, but also, now, incredibly useful to have on camping trips.


End file.
